Читать книгу The Tycoon's Temptation - Renee Roszel - Страница 11

ELAINE ate half of the deep-dish pizza and Mitchell Rath had still not returned to the kitchen. She wondered what he’d been doing all this time, hand-feeding Claire her sandwich? If he was so all-fired hungry, he wasn’t acting much like it.

She was stuffed. Even if it were the best pizza in the world, she couldn’t get another bite down to save her life. She stared daggers toward the empty kitchen door. If he thought she was going to hang around here until he decided to amble back in, he was crazy.

She shut the lid on the pizza box and scooped it up along with his charge card and cell phone. She wanted to be rid of him and his belongings. The only way she could be sure to get it done on her terms was to hunt him down and shove them at him.

She tromped up the stairs and hurried to her aunt’s room. Since her hands were full she knocked lightly with her toe.

“Yes?”

“Aunt Claire, is Mr. Rath in there?”

“Heaven’s no.” She sounded sleepy. “I’m in bed.”

“Do you want me to take your dishes downstairs?”

“Good grief, no, Lainey. I’ll do it in the morning. You get some rest.”

Elaine readjusted her burden when the phone started to slip. “Uh—well, okay. What room did you give Mr. Rath? I have—er—he ordered a pizza.”

“Oh?” Elaine heard a yawn in the word. “That’s nice. He’s in the one next to you.”

“Next to…” She couldn’t quite believe what she heard, so the last word came out in an incredulous squeak. “Me?”

“It’s the nicest room with southern exposure. Being from California, he’s not used to our cold winters. I thought he’d be most comfortable there.”

“And why would we care to make him comfortable?” What was wrong with her aunt? Didn’t she see the man for the bandit he was?

“What, Lainey?”

“I said—”

She heard a throat being cleared and whirled to see the bandit himself approaching along the hall. The sounds of his footsteps were muted by the Oriental rug runners, so he was too near to have missed her last remark.

He’d changed into jeans and a faded red sweatshirt with the gold, block letters University of Southern California splashed across his chest.

“What?” Claire called. “I couldn’t hear that.”

“She said she appreciated your making me comfortable, Claire.”

“Oh? Fine. I told you she’d be in a better humor after she ate. Good night, Mitchell. Good night, Lainey.”

“Good night,” he said, apparently for them both, since Elaine couldn’t manage to do more than glare at him.

His hair was a little mussed, as though he hadn’t smoothed it back after pulling the shirt over his head. That surprised her. She’d assumed he spent his free time preening before a mirror. That tousled, breezy look didn’t fit in with her image of him.

“Let me help you, Mrs. Stuben.” He relieved her of his phone and credit card, depositing them in trouser pockets. “I gather you didn’t eat any pizza.”

“I ate half of it,” she said. “I told you my attitude toward you would not get any better, even on a full stomach.”

“Ah, right.” He nodded, as though just recalling the statement—

Like he’d forgotten! No way! She shoved the box at him. “I hope you like pineapple-onion.”

She wasn’t sure if the guttural sound he made was his reaction to her choice of toppings or a result of the box being heaved into his solar plexus.

“A fruit and vegetable pizza?” His eyes glinted his displeasure. “I’m sure it will be—nutritious.”

She felt that stunning impact of his aggravation in the pit of her stomach—a hot jab that nearly buckled her knees. Sucking in a breath, she shifted her gaze away. Scrupulously avoiding eye contact, she made a big production of brushing imaginary pizza crumbs from her sweater. “Well—I’ll be off to bed. I have a long day tom—”