Читать книгу Secret Cinderella - Dani Sinclair - Страница 11

Mel awoke from a dreamless sleep to adrenaline-pumping fear. A large shadowy shape loomed over her. With a startled cry, she rolled away from the threat, off the other side of the bed to land on her feet. She crouched there poised to fight or flee while her brain attempted to assimilate what was happening.

A startled masculine oath ripped from the shadow’s throat. He half raised an object in his hand defensively at her cry and Mel came all the way to consciousness as memory clicked into place. She was in the guest bedroom in the town house belonging to Roderick Laughlin III. The shadow could be no one else but her host.

Actually, as her heart continued to thud a staccato beat, she wasn’t sure which of them was the more startled by the situation. She’d been taught that taking the offensive was always the best policy so she gave vent to the panic that had clawed the back of her throat.

“You idiot! You scared the heck out of me!”

He lowered the object slowly. “What?”

“You could have given me a heart attack! You should have called out or something. Don’t you know you should never startle someone awake? I thought you were an intruder.”

Speechless, he remained unmoving.

As her vision penetrated the darkened room, his shocked expression drained the remainder of her fear. She had no idea what time it was, but it felt very late, or very early, depending on the point of view. The house was dark and Roderick Laughlin still wore his tuxedo—right down to the perfectly knotted tie at his throat. Mostly backlit by the hall light, he stood there gripping what looked like a frying pan. The image was so ludicrous, Mel couldn’t help it, she giggled.

“Sorry,” she apologized quickly. “But you look ridiculous holding that skillet. Were you going to bean me over the head or did you come to offer me breakfast? Because if you’re cooking, I’m eating.”

His eyes blinked shut for a moment. “Oh, hell. You’re a fruitcake.”

“I most certainly am not!” She aimed a finger at his chest. “Listen, buddy, I’m not the one dressed in a tuxedo holding a frying pan in my guest room in the middle of the night. It is still the middle of the night, isn’t it? What time is it? And what are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you and the model be ringing in the new year at her place all night?”

He shook his head like a fighter who’d taken one punch too many.

“How did you get in here?” he growled.

Uh-oh. Dangerous territory.

“Like any normal person. Through the front door. I, uh, sort of borrowed your keys.”

This time when he shook his head, she realized he’d recovered. He’d moved beyond shock to a deadly calm.

“How did you get past my security system?”

“Oh, that,” she stalled.

“Yes, that.”

When no suitable answer came to mind, Mel gave what she hoped was a negligent shrug and started moving around the bed. “You need a better system.”

He tensed.

“There is no better system,” he gritted out. “Who the devil are you?”

“Really?” she asked dubiously even though she knew darn well what he’d said was true. She’d never come across an alarm system quite like his before. Even her father would be impressed. The dratted thing had nearly defeated her.

“Look, if it makes you feel any better, it did take me several minutes to disconnect and reconnect without tripping the interrupt circuit.”

“That’s impossible,” he stated flatly.

Shrugging, she offered him a saucy grin. “If I were you, I’d make the company refund your money.”

His voice dropped another octave. “I own the company that created that system.”

“Oops.” And didn’t that just figure. Maybe she should try inserting her other foot. “Better send your people back to the drawing board.”

He closed his mouth with a snap. His gaze swept her with a force that was nearly tangible. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but abruptly he tensed even further.

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

Mel pushed self-consciously at a flopping sleeve and glanced down at the white linen, thankful to see the material was draped decently to midthigh. Everything was properly covered so she tried for a wry smile.

“Sorry. I couldn’t find any pajamas.”

As though afraid he might be tempted to use it, he set the frying pan on the rumpled bed with exaggerated care.

“I don’t wear pajamas,” he said starkly.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured when I couldn’t find any. Normally I sleep nude, too, but I didn’t feel right doing that here…you know, being a guest in your house and all.”

“You are not a guest,” he enunciated carefully. “You are a common thief.”

And that raised her Irish once more. “I may be a lot of things, pal, but I am in no way common. And I haven’t stolen a thing from you,” she fired back. “I even replaced the ninety bucks I borrowed for cab fare.”

“Ninety dollars! What did you do, take a tour?”

“Hey! In case you’ve forgotten, it’s New Year’s Eve.”

Besides, she’d taken a series of cab rides because her car had refused to start again, but there was no point mentioning that little fact. Or how incredibly lucky she’d been to find even one cab let alone several still operating as the weather worsened.

She spread her hands. “So I was gouged, sue me. Between the holiday and the snow, I was hardly in any position to argue prices. I know I shouldn’t have borrowed your wallet and your keys, but I did return them, so no harm done.”

“And my shirt?”

“Oh, for crying out loud. It’s the middle of the night! You want it back? Fine.”

As she reached for the top button she wondered if he’d really make her take it off. Surely not. This guy was all but starched rigid. Still, the unwanted memory of their shared kiss made her usually agile fingers shake unacceptably. What if she wasn’t reading him as well as she thought?

One button.

Two.

“Stop!”

Thank heavens! One more button and she’d be wishing for a belly-button ring to distract him. She waited while he muttered something under his breath and ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t believe this.”

“I know what you mean,” she agreed, redoing the buttons with a lot more speed than she’d managed to undo them.

Wearily, he rubbed his face. Mel noted his exhaustion and sympathized. Her own eyes felt gritty. Casting a quick glance around the room she picked up the dress that had fallen to the floor and then spotted her black sweatpants on the chair where she’d tossed them earlier.

She strode over and tugged the pants up under the shirt with faked nonchalance, conscious of his dark gaze following her every move. Given the situation, it was funny she didn’t feel more threatened.

“This has been quite a night, wouldn’t you say? What time is it, anyhow?”

“Past time for you to do some explaining.”

Mel could hardly miss the silky threat in his quiet tone even if she hadn’t noticed that the hands he’d dropped to his sides were fisted tightly.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“That’s right, we never did get around to introductions, did we? I’m Mel.” Nervously she rerolled the long sleeve that kept falling down to cover her hand.

“Mel.”

His lack of inflection was a rattle of warning. He regarded her with an unblinking stare as he repeated her name.

“Well, Mel, what are you doing in my house at…”

He glanced down at the expensive gold watch on his wrist she’d noticed earlier. If she’d been inclined toward a life of crime that would have made a tempting target.

“…three twenty-seven in the morning? Or is it too much for me to expect a reasonable answer to that question?”

All things considered, he was taking the situation very well. He hadn’t hit her with the frying pan and he wasn’t reaching for the telephone to call the police.

Yet.

Mel knew it was more than she deserved. Although she was scared, she knew better than to let him see her fear.

“How come you aren’t calling the police?”

“An excellent question. Should I?”

“Not on my account.”

He didn’t crack a smile. She watched as one of his hands went back to his forehead to rub absently. Apparently he still had a headache. Heck, she could feel the early twinges of one herself.

“Look, I really am sorry.” She shrugged helplessly. “The truth is, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I was hoping you and your model would spend the night at the hotel, or at least go back to her place. I figured I could return your wallet and keys and be out of here before you showed up in the morning. I didn’t expect you to come here so soon. Not in this weather.”

“Why?”

“Why didn’t I think you’d come back so soon?” She raised her eyebrows pointedly. “Or do you mean why didn’t I have anywhere else to go?”

He started to say something, shook his head and stopped.

“Why me?” he asked flatly.

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “You were tall and you were heading toward the exit.”

He waited, but she didn’t dare add anything else.

“Of course. That makes perfect sense,” he said mockingly after an interminable minute had passed.

“Has anyone ever told you, you do sarcasm quite well? Look, it’s late and neither of us is thinking straight right now. Why don’t you go take something for your headache? I’ll make us a cup of hot chocolate to help us sleep. We can finish playing twenty questions in the morning.”

She moved to brush past him even though she’d known it wasn’t going to be that simple. He stopped her in her tracks simply by snagging her arm. The man had a powerful grip, but she was relieved to find he knew exactly how much pressure to exert to hold her still without hurting.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Mel froze and her heart pulsed a rapid staccato. Could he see through her brave talk? Did he know how badly she was quaking inside? She was totally in the wrong here and she knew it. He had every right to call the police and have her arrested. She had to keep reminding herself that any show of fear was a weakness that might just send his hand reaching for the nearest telephone. Best to keep him off base—if she could. “To your kitchen. I could use a pain reliever myself and I can’t take them on an empty stomach.”

This close to him again she realized that his tuxedo still held the faintest trace of cigarette smoke and a much stronger floral perfume odor that she wasn’t familiar with. The last wasn’t terribly surprising since it had probably come from the girlfriend and was bound to cost more than Mel would think of spending even if she wore perfume.

Dark, tired eyes stared down at her. They mirrored his headache and exhaustion, but once again she was reminded that this was no mark. Roderick Laughlin III was a formidable adversary.

“Look, trust me,” she told him, making no effort to pull away. “I’m not going anywhere dressed like this. We both need sleep.”

“Trust you?”

His lips curled cynically and his eyes bored into hers.

“Interesting concept…Mel. Tell me why I should trust a pickpocket who dresses like a whore and enters my house illegally in the dead of the night.”

Her body went rigid under the lash of his words. Before she could formulate a reply, he released her arm to rub at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

“Forget it. You’ve had plenty of time to strip the place bare if that was your intention. You’re right. I need sleep. I do not intend to stand here talking to a crazy person at this hour of the morning.”

“You know, a lesser person might take umbrage with that statement. I, however, will let it pass.” She reached down to lift the frying pan from the bed. “Have you eaten recently? I’m thinking maybe a light omelet and some hot chocolate.”

Mel started for the hall. She didn’t bother to turn around to see if he was following her. The answer was not in question.

His kitchen was a dream for someone who loved to cook. Real cocoa, whole milk, even marshmallows were available in his well-stocked pantry. She started warming the milk and returned to the refrigerator.

“Oh, my. I do love a man with a well-stocked larder. Leftover ham!”

“Mel.”

“And look at all these exotic cheeses! You even have fresh mushrooms and a green pepper. I may have to marry you. This is fantastic!”

“Mel,” he said again from the doorway. “I’m not hungry. It’s late—or rather, very early in the morning. I don’t want breakfast.”

“That’s okay. You’ll change your mind after you taste one of my omelets. I haven’t eaten since—you know, I don’t remember when I ate last. That means it’s been far too long. That canapé I snatched earlier doesn’t count as food. Nothing more than warmed cardboard with anchovies. You’d think a five-star hotel would hire better chefs. Not my problem, but it is annoying. Anyhow, we’ll sleep better if we eat, trus—honest. The omelet will only take a minute and the food will help your headache. Unless…you don’t suffer from migraines, do you?”

He looked affronted.

“Not normally,” he said pointedly.

She tossed him a saucy grin and removed the hot milk from the burner. “Here. Stir in the cocoa while I get the omelet started.”

For a minute, she thought she’d pushed him too far. Then, without a word, he took the pan from her, lifted the tin of cocoa and set about precisely measuring the powdery mix. Relieved to have passed that hurdle, Mel continued putting ingredients together.

As Roderick mixed the cocoa he wondered when he’d lost control of the situation. Then he wondered why he wasn’t more upset. He should be phoning the police, not standing here watching her move about his kitchen as though she owned the place. What was wrong with him? But even as he asked the question, he knew why he wasn’t reaching for the telephone. She fascinated him. He’d never met anyone remotely like her before. She’d roused his curiosity to fever pitch. Well, it would be fever pitch if he wasn’t so tired. And he couldn’t bring himself to believe she was any sort of threat to him. Undoubtedly foolish, but a risk he was willing to take to get to the bottom of the enigma called Mel. He set her mug of steaming chocolate on the island and leaned back against the far counter to sip from his own mug as he watched her work. Wringing her slender neck definitely held some appeal, but he found himself alternately bemused and mesmerized by the small dynamo moving so efficiently about his kitchen as if she’d been doing so for years.

Roderick took pride in the fact that he always maintained control. He was used to being in charge, used to issuing orders and used to being obeyed. His sister often claimed he was part robot. Too bad Pansy couldn’t see him trying to deal with this slip of a woman.

“What sort of a name is that for a woman anyhow?”

“Mel? It’s short for Melanie,” she told him sweetly.

He watched her lift the pan from the burner and flip the egg concoction with a deft flick of her wrist. The eggs rose several inches, turned over and settled back down again as neatly as anything he’d ever seen. Roderick was impressed despite himself.

“Have a seat,” she told him.

“I told you I wasn’t hungry.” But he carried his mug over to the table anyhow.

“Fine, then you can watch me eat your share, too.”

Moments later she set half of a fluffy omelet in front of him along with a slice of lightly buttered toast. She settled on the chair across from him with her share.

Roderick Laughlin, wealthy, decisive chairman of the board of several dozen firms, picked up his fork and dutifully cut into the eggs. Cheese oozed from the center. It looked and smelled wonderful, he conceded. It tasted even better. Neither of them spoke until they had cleaned their plates.

“That was excellent,” he admitted. “Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“My grandmother taught me. Finish your chocolate while I clean up.”

“Leave it. My housekeeper will get the dishes in the morning.”

“Absolutely not. I clean up my own messes.”

Interesting. And telling, if true.

“Besides, if it keeps snowing like this, your housekeeper isn’t going to make it here in the morning. Don’t you give your help holidays off? Never mind. You just sit there,” she continued, hopping to her feet.

He’d forgotten Sal wouldn’t be in tomorrow, which only went to show how tired he was. But Melanie’s order to sit caused Roderick to raise an eyebrow in warning. “Has anyone ever told you you’re bossy?”

“Yep.” She lifted his plate and carried it to the sink.

“Is that why you aren’t married?”

Mel whirled, startled. “What?”

Absurdly pleased to have her on the defensive for a change, he watched her turn back to recover the fork she’d dropped into the sink.

“I’m wondering why a woman who can cook like this isn’t married.”

“Don’t ruin your image by telling me you’re some backward-thinking male chauvinist,” she said, bending to place the fork and the plate in the dishwasher.

“I won’t,” he promised, waiting to see what she’d do.

She tucked her loose hair back behind her ear and began scrubbing out the pan as he rose and sauntered over to join her at the sink.

“Why would any sane person choose to get married in this day and age?” she demanded.

He watched her scrub the helpless pan faster as her temper rose.

“Marriage is nothing more than a meaningless scrap of paper that everyone ignores until they decide to have it abolished. Then the only happy people are the lawyers.”

Rinsing the pan, she slapped it into the dishwasher with noisy force.

“The lawyers make big bucks tearing up the paper right along with people’s lives.”

She scowled, daring him to contradict her.

“Not fond of lawyers, either, I take it,” he taunted her.

“I’d rather be single,” she stated belligerently.

“So you prefer to settle for lovers?”

Her glare was meant to intimidate. Since he agreed with her in principle, he was surprised to discover her adamancy disturbed him. He wondered if her parents had been divorced and how old she’d been when it happened or if her own divorce had brought out such strong emotion.

“You’re just spoiling for a fight, aren’t you? What happened, Roddy, you strike out with the girlfriend tonight?”

He tensed as her barb struck home. “Let’s leave Shereen out of this discussion.”

“Fine with me. You’re the one who brought up the love-life scenario.”

She was good at deflecting questions, but he was better. “Who were you running from tonight, Melanie?”

“The big bad wolf.”

“After seeing you in that dress, I’m not surprised.”

She lifted the whisk she’d used to stir the omelet and aimed it at him as her chin came up defiantly.

“What’s wrong with my dress?”

“Well, for one thing, it’s missing a lot of material, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

To his shock, she suddenly giggled then turned away to rinse off the whisk. She had the most amazing giggle.

“Actually I did notice. I nearly froze to death in that dress.”

The woman knew how to lead his thoughts astray, but now was not the time to be thinking how sexy she had looked in that tempting bit of green. He forced his mind back to business.

“What were you doing there, Melanie?”

“I prefer Mel and it’s none of your business.”

“You made it my business when you lifted my wallet and elected to come here tonight.”

She turned away and began to wipe off the counters.

“Think what you like.”

She shrugged and he watched her generous, unbound breasts rise and fall beneath his shirt. Roderick had no idea what to make of this perplexing woman, but he knew he wanted to know a lot more about her.

“What do you do for a living when you aren’t out picking pockets?”

She yawned hugely, rinsed out the cloth she’d been using and draped it neatly over the sink.

“I’m a short-order cook.”

He shook his head as she turned around to face him. “If you’d said you were a chef I might believe you after that omelet but…”

“Chefs require fancy degrees these days. Cooks can get jobs anywhere. How’s your head?”

He stayed the hand that automatically started toward his temple. The headache that had plagued him all evening was now a negligible throb.

“Better.”

He heard the wonder in his voice. She smiled smugly.

“You’ll be fine after some sleep. I know I’ll feel better. Do you mind if I stay?”

“You are the most extraordinary person.”

“Thank you.”

Obviously she took that for permission because she turned and preceded him to the stairs. Roderick paused long enough to check that the burner was off, turn out the light and collect his dress shoes before following her up the stairs. At the top, she paused to wish him good-night before heading to the guest room.