Desperate justifications were the first sign that you’re doing something wrong. Unable to meet Alyson’s eyes, Maddy accepted the clothing and said, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you, but you should know . . .”
Alyson nudged Maddy into the changing room and closed the door between them. “It doesn’t matter. You’re free now.”
Free. Maddy sighed and began to try on the clothing Alyson had given her. Each outfit fit as if it had been made for her, and their simplicity was refreshing. Alyson had a good eye for sizes and style. Although the clothing was from past seasons, the skinny jeans and high-heeled suede cutout boots Alyson had picked were still in fashion.
Dressed in jeans and a tucked-in oversized linen shirt, Maddy rejoined Alyson, whose arms were overflowing with two shirts, a skirt, and a pair of slacks. Alyson placed them in a large white plastic bag with handles. She accepted the articles of clothing Maddy had brought out with her and added them to the bag.
Maddy asked, “Are you sure I can’t give you something for these now?”
“I’m sure,” Alyson said. “I’ve included some intimate garments and a modest nightgown. You can’t sleep naked at my brother’s house. Although, then he just may notice you, non?” She winked and smiled.
“I’m sure your brother is wonderful, but even if he did like me, I’m not looking for a relationship right now. My life is already out of control.”
Alyson studied Maddy for a moment, then nodded. “I understand that feeling, too. Come, let’s go. I’ll call my brother on the way. Don’t worry. You don’t have to like him. He’s a big boy, non? He takes care of himself.”
“Are you sure he’ll be okay with me staying there?”
“Oui, oui, although he may say differently. The barking dog is not the one who will bite, you understand?”
Maddy shook her head as she followed Alyson out the shop’s back door and into the small alley where her car was parked. “Not really, no. I’m not a dog person.”
Alyson laughed as they both buckled themselves in. “I love American humor. You’re so funny.”
Maddy clung to the door handle as the small yellow Renault Clio hatchback flew down the narrow driveway and cut off another as it flew onto the main road. What if Alyson really does know who I am, and I just became the most willing kidnappee on the planet? No one knows where I’m going.
Am I standing up for myself and what I believe in, or putting myself in danger?
For once, I’m not sure I care either way.
***
“Get out,” Richard D’Argenson roared in French. The flurry of activity in the kitchen of his restaurant froze.
“Let me explain,” the saucier answered hastily.
“There is no explanation needed. You rushed your sauce like a fumbling teenager chasing his first orgasm. People wait for a year to taste my specials. Do you think they want this . . . shit?”
“I just raised the heat a little to shorten the cooking time by a minute or so . . .”
“Just . . . just . . . if you wonder what holds you back from greatness, the answer can be found in that one word. Your job was to precisely follow my instructions. I create. I experiment. You take direction and learn. When you have your own restaurant you can serve them whatever slop you want, but here you cook the way I say or you go. So, get out—”
“You can’t fire me with no notice and just before Christmas.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Please, I’ll watch my times more carefully in the future . . .”
Richard’s cell phone rang in his pants pocket. Everyone knew not to call him during busy hours unless it was a life-or-death situation, and even then he’d rather hear about the outcome later. He let it ring through to voicemail, but then it began to ring again.
“What am I going to tell my wife?”
“Mon Dieu!” Richard growled as he whipped out his phone and barked, “What?”
Unlike almost everyone else in his domain, his sister did not waver or apologize in the face of his temper. “Richard, I have a favor to ask.”
“I’m busy right now,” Richard snapped, pinning the man across from him with a glare. “If I don’t get this idiot out of my kitchen soon, no one will eat tonight.” His next threat was issued to the others who had paused to watch the exchange. “And no one besides me will be working here tomorrow.”
All but the man he was firing returned to their stations and resumed cooking.
“Then just say yes,” his sister suggested.
“To what? Say it fast. I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
“I need a place for my friend to stay for a few days.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Richard, this is important. I’d have her stay with me, but you know I can’t. Please? You have so many rooms that just sit empty.”
“I’m not a hotel.”
“She has nowhere else to go. She’s desperate.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Richard, have some compassion. She just broke up with a wealthy man and needs a place to disappear for a while. Do you remember Maman’s second husband? These things can be tricky.”
“This sounds like an equally tiresome situation.”
“Do this for me, Richard. I promise, you won’t even know she’s there.”
“That’s what you said about the cat you brought me, and he’s still at my house destroying my curtains.”
“This is different. Trust me.”
The man before him was still pleading for his job, but Richard had tuned him out.
“Fine. She can stay the weekend, but that’s it. I won’t be there very much anyway. This is a hectic time for me.”
“Thank you, Richard. You won’t regret this.”
“I’d better not,” he said and hung up.
The saucier said, “You’re a reasonable man—”
“Is it reasonable to agree to house some crazy woman in my home and likely be robbed in exchange? Non, I don’t think so. But I do it because it is the right thing to do. Just like giving you the opportunity to walk out of here on your own without the embarrassment of me throwing you out the door. I offer you a chance to retain your dignity.” He looked down at his watch. “That offer expires in thirty seconds.”
“I have said I won’t do it again. What more do you want from me?”
“Twenty seconds. Please don’t drag this out. I have a soufflé in the oven.”
“You’re insane.”
“Ten seconds.” Richard removed the cloth wrapped around his waist and said, “I’d hate to get blood on my favorite apron.”
The man paled and retreated a few steps. He appealed to the sous-chef. “Bertrand, talk to him. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, for God’s sake.”
The sous-chef, an older gentleman with white hair and an easy smile, intervened. “Richard, let me handle this. Thibeault, go back to your station. Finish your sauce, then go home. Come in tomorrow and we’ll discuss if you still have a job.”
Richard turned to the man he normally respected. “You forget your place, Bertrand. This is my kitchen.”
When the saucier had returned to his station, Bertrand said, “Richard, I have worked with you for many years now, isn’t that so?”
His temper cooling, Richard gave a reluctant nod. Once upon a time, Bertrand had taken a risk with Richard and given him the money he needed to open the restaurant. They were partners of sorts. Bertrand was a good chef, but he acknowledged Richard’s gift, and that they worked better together when Richard created and Bertrand maintained.
“I know the holidays make you a little crazy in the head.” Bertrand smiled as he spoke. “Last week you would have bellowed and scared the man into precision. You wouldn’t have fired him. Perhaps it is you who should take a day off. Go see your sister. Take the vacation you never allow yourself. Face the demon that makes this time of year unbearable for you.”
“When I want your advice, I will ask for it,” Richard growled
.
“What kind of friend would I be if I waited that long?” Bertrand said cheerfully and walked away.
In the quiet that had fallen over his kitchen again, Richard roared to his staff, “Get back to work. We have people to feed.”
With a nervous burst of energy, the kitchen returned to order and productivity.
Richard sighed with relief when he checked on his soufflé and saw that it had a minute or two left to firm. He hadn’t ruined it yet. He caught the saucier watching him cautiously from across the room and swore under his breath. It was true: Any other week of the year he would have chastised the man for his lack of dedication to detail, but he wouldn’t have fired him for the first offense. In that, Bertrand was right. He was wrong, though, to think that taking a day off would lighten the dark mood that descended on Richard each Christmas.
In Sablet, celebrations started before Christmas and lasted well past. He wasted time each year decorating his restaurant for a holiday that meant nothing to him and fending off invitations from neighbors who thought a simple date on the calendar meant he should not be alone—unable to believe that alone was how he preferred to be.
Alone was never a disappointment. The days when he tried to please others, like his sister, by joining in festivities were long gone. She still dropped by on Christmas morning, but she had friends in town who had become her family, and after a brief visit she would leave to celebrate with them.
And leave him in peace.
Something he wasn’t going to have now that he’d agreed to Alyson’s ridiculous request.
What the hell was he going to do with a woman in his house for Christmas?
Chapter Two
Later in the evening, Maddy was exploring the west wing of a ten-bedroom stone mansion and wondering about the man who owned it. Moderately expensive paintings were scattered throughout the house, alongside vacant spots where others had likely hung.
What had happened to them?
The furniture was elegant in design but told the same story as the empty places on the walls. Each room contained just enough furniture to be functional, but the settings where valuable pieces might have been showcased were bare.
One day before Christmas Eve and there wasn’t a ribbon, candle, or wreath in sight. Curiosity drove her through each room as she hunted for even the tiniest evidence of holiday cheer. She thought of the lengths her family went to each year to decorate their thirty-plus-acre estate near New York City. There wasn’t a corner of the house that didn’t sparkle cheerfully or display photos of past Christmases. She and her mother spent an entire day each year directing the staff on exactly how and where to hang the festive greenery. It was something she’d often taken for granted.
The stark absence of any seasonal decoration saddened Maddy on many levels. She felt sorry for the man who owned this large, cold house. Had he experienced a financial devastation that had taken away not only his treasures but also his ability to enjoy his home? The bedrooms she entered were clean and well maintained, but each was as lifeless as the last. If one was his, she couldn’t tell it apart from the others.
Maddy headed back to the suite Alyson had helped her settle into and felt a bit ridiculous. What was I thinking? I have money. I don’t have to hide out here. I should call a car service and check into the nearest hotel.
But then my family will know where I am.
She’d turned off her phone on the drive over, right after sending her father a text: “Tell Gino I won’t be meeting him at the limo. I’m okay.” Short. To the point. Let them know she was alive without giving away her location.
She sat on a couch near a large double window and smiled when the cat Alyson had called Minet hopped into her lap. She petted him absently while talking herself through her decision. “They should be grateful. I’d never make it through a family dinner and keep my silence.”
The cat’s only answer was a happy purr. Maddy picked him up and looked into his golden eyes. “What story did you use to get here?” The cat blandly looked back at her. “I supposedly am on the run from some ex-lover. What a joke. Who can date with Gino around?”
The cat mewed loudly. Maddy joked, “Neutered, huh? Okay, you win. Your love life officially sucks more than mine.”
Putting Minet at her feet, Maddy stood again and decided to change into something for sleep. As she hunted through the top layers of clothing Alyson had bagged for her, she said, “So, tell me about the man who owns this house. What does he look like? Is he short? Does he sample too many of his desserts? How about his teeth? Does he have any?”
Finally her fingers touched something silky. Maddy pulled the silky nightgown out and held it up. Although it was long enough to almost reach her knees, the material was thin to the point of practically being sheer. Pink silk with accents of white. Apparently she and Alyson didn’t share the same definition of modest. The pink thong underwear that came with it still had a tag on it. No surprise. Does underwear matter when it’s also see-through?
She debated discarding the nightgown and sleeping in her slacks. But Alyson had told her she might not even meet Richard. He closed his restaurant late and opened it early. He was okay with her staying there for the weekend as long as he didn’t have to see her. A bit eccentric, but his house was certainly large enough to allow for such an arrangement.
And his lack of interest in his houseguest made her choice of sleepwear irrelevant. Maddy held the pink nightgown up again. It really was beautiful, and her clothing was damp from the rain. She didn’t plan to leave the suite that night. Giving in to impulse, she stripped and put on the delicately made lingerie. She took a blanket from the bedroom, dug her tablet out of her purse, and took both with her to the couch. Nothing else in her life was as she’d thought it would be, but rereading one of her favorite romances was soothing and provided a temporary escape from the reality that had sent her into a tailspin.
Minet curled up on her feet, purring loudly. Maddy closed her eyes, lulled by the rhythmic sound, and didn’t notice when she dropped her tablet to one side. The story on the page continued like a movie in her dream. A wondrous passionate scene where all of her wanton desires were being fulfilled by a beefy, broody cowboy.
***
Tired and irritated with himself for having agreed to a put up a guest for the weekend, Richard entered his mansion. The lack of lighting inside gave him hope. There was a chance his sister had come to her senses and taken her friend where she belonged: a hotel. Or back to her ex-lover. Anywhere but his house.
He should have never agreed to it, but the mention of his mother and her previous states of desperation had been enough to confuse a yes out of him.
The cat he’d never named, because he still had no intention of keeping it even though it had lived with him for a year, did not meet him at the door as it normally did. It didn’t twirl around his legs, half tripping him, as he made his way to hang up his coat. Nor did it run up the staircase ahead of him in a wild attempt to beat him to his bedroom, hoping it would be allowed to claim a lower corner of the bed if it got there first.
No, the cat was strangely absent, which meant that someone else might indeed be present. Richard opened the door to a guest suite in his home. There on the couch, curled on her side beneath a solid blue comforter, lay his unwanted guest, sleeping peacefully. He stepped closer. Her chestnut curls were loose and cascaded around her, looking so soft he had to fight the urge to touch them.
She moaned softly in her sleep and shifted, revealing only the slightest hint of what filled her dreams. Her lips parted slightly and she moaned again, making Richard’s heart beat rapidly.
He knew he should walk away and leave her to her dreams, but he couldn’t. He stood over her, wondering what color her eyes were, and if her body matched the beauty of her face. It probably did. When a woman decided to trade her self-respect for the comforts a rich man could provide her, staying trim was often an unspoken part of the deal. His mother was both beautiful and physically fit. She had to
be or she wouldn’t be able to lure men, one after another, into marriages with lucrative prenuptials. If his mother cared as much about her family as she did about landing her next husband, he might talk to her more than once a year. For now, a brief phone conversation every twelve months was all he could stomach.
Regardless of how innocent the woman before him appeared, he knew the truth about her, and that was enough to counter the temptation of her perfect features. It was no surprise that she’d talked his sister into depositing her at his house—a woman like her would always be on the prowl for another man to support her. He wondered if he should tell her that most of his money was tied up in his restaurant and the mansion he’d never been able to part with.
No diamond necklaces here, ma puce. Sorry to have wasted your time.
The cat raised itself from its curled position at her feet, then lowered its head and dug its claws into her ankles. She partially woke with a start and swatted one hand at the air above the cat, then seemed to come more to her senses, groggily pulling the cat to her chest in apology. “Oh, it’s you. For a minute there I thought you were—I don’t know what I thought, but you should be a more careful kitty when you’re waking someone up. I’m still jumpy.”
American. Just my luck. His restaurant filled with them around the holidays. Why not in my home, too? “My fault,” Richard said dryly in English.
Her eyes flew to his and, before he could say more, she screamed at such a high volume that he was grateful his neighbors lived acres away or they surely would have called the police. She clutched the cat to her chest with such force that it also screeched.
He stepped closer to intervene, fearing the cat would turn and claw the poor woman. His quick approach elicited a second scream from the woman. “Arrête,” he ordered impatiently and seized the cat. “You’re scaring him.”
Red-faced, the woman scrambled to stand and reprimanded him. “Then stop scaring me.”
With the now-calm cat tucked beneath one arm, Richard said coldly, “I was merely coming in to check on my houseguest.” He stressed the last word, making his feelings about having her there quite clear.
Recipe for Love Page 2