Nicole sighs as she removes the cover from her driver. “I know, and lucky me—I got roped into being a contestant.”
“No! Oh, honey.” I give her a sympathetic smile.
She rolls her eyes. “With my luck, I’ll pick the most horrible option.”
“If I’m there, I promise to give you hand signals to let you know the best one.”
Laura and Emily have pulled up behind us, and Nicole says, “I’d pay big money for that.”
“Consider it done.” Besides, I have no doubt Bitsy will expect me to be there anyway, and now I have a good reason to go.
Emily and Laura look like the typical country-club wives. Their hair, makeup, and clothing are classic and tasteful, but unfortunately, the moment they open their mouths, the sophisticated look disappears. Laura smiles at me. “Diana, darling, rumor has it you had a date with the infamous Christopher Pierce.”
Emily pipes in, “Don’t you mean notorious?” The two women giggle, and I have to refrain from rolling my eyes. Nicole walks up to the tee and prepares to take her first stroke.
They also make me feel protective. I feel a kinship with Charlie since I come from humble beginnings too, and it irritates me that the prejudice against self-made billionaires still exists in the old-money crowd. I say, “I did go sailing with him yesterday, and it was very pleasant. What do you mean by notorious?”
“Oh,” Laura says as Nicole’s club cracks against her ball. “He manages to slip through Bitsy’s fingers no matter how hard she tries to pin him down for her fundraisers.” She glances at Emily as if she’s looking for assurance she can say more.
Emily says, “He’s also not into dating, and many women have tried to land him. You’ve done well.”
I’m not sure why I think the truth will matter, but as I walk up to the tee, I say, “Actually, he was a blind date Frank set me up with.”
“Blind date?” asks Laura as she and Emily practically gasp in surprise.
Nicole says, “Ladies, it’s best if we’re quiet when someone takes their turn. It’s very distracting to have conversation going on.”
She shames them for talking during her turn, and they keep their mouths shut as I set my feet in place to prepare for my shot. I try to clear my mind so I can focus on my swing, but it doesn’t work, and I manage to send my ball off to the right, where it lands in a section of trees.
The ladies behind me sigh in compassion. Or perhaps annoyance, because it means I’ll take a while to finish this hole and they’ll have to wait for me. God, I hate this game. After Laura and Emily take their turns, I climb into the golf cart with Nicole. She says, “I won’t tell if you want to toss your ball closer to the fairway.”
I smile at her. “Thank god you’re here today. It’s going to be a long morning with those two.”
She winks at me as she punches the gas pedal so our tires will kick up dust for the women behind us. “I’ve got your back.”
Nicole is a godsend, because for the rest of our round, she manages to change the subject any time Laura or Emily try to get back to discussing Char--Christopher. I finally text him to say I’d love to meet for a sunset sail, because I can’t wait to hear what his explanation for lying to me is.
My blinker ticks as I turn into my long driveway and gaze past the vast expanse of land I own that reaches all the way to the ocean. It’s impressive, and fitting for the founder of a billion-dollar company. I originally bought the acres for horses I dreamt of having, but I didn’t have the time then, and I have no interest in exploring them now. An Olympic-sized pool and pool house appear on my right, and I recall how when she was younger, my daughter Megan was a competitive swimmer and determined to take it as far as she could go. I installed a pool to allow her as much training time as she craved. My tenacious, stubborn, oldest child is so much like me that we’ve had our struggles, but lately we’re finding our way back. I smile to myself as I think about her sister, Alex, who is her total opposite. While Megan was working out, Alex would be in my closet playing dress-up. She shares my love of fashion, and our relationship has always been easy.
I take in the enormity of my home as I pull my Jaguar into the garage, and my footsteps echo as I make my way to the door for the house. I’ve worked hard for everything I have, but it doesn’t make me as happy as I’d like to be. I want more. Like a man to share my life with. My bag thumps as I drop it on the laundry room floor, which is between the garage and kitchen, and I make my way to the main living space of my house. It’s my housekeeper’s day off, but I know she left me a few meals to heat up. The incredible flavor of my sandwich Christopher made for me yesterday comes to mind, and I’m suddenly ravenous.
The microwave beeps as I set it to warm up soup, and I recall my excursion with Christopher. I enjoyed his company, and even though he duped me into getting on his boat, I want to find out more about the man. I think about Laura and Emily calling him notorious and wonder if there’s any truth to it. Silverware rattles when I open a drawer for a spoon, and I decide I have the power to find out. I take my bowl and wander over to the living room, where my laptop sits on the coffee table.
Before I dig into what the Internet has to offer on Christopher Pierce, I check into the Chef Impostor forum to see if Chef P. left me a message. He did.
“How was your date today? I have no doubt you dazzled him, and I want all the juicy details. By the way, I ended up having a lunch date too, and I think we hit it off.”
My stomach clenches, and I realize I’m jealous. Which is ridiculous, because who am I to be so possessive? Chef P. deserves someone of his own too. I’m unsettled by my feelings, and while I know I should tell him about my date, I can only manage a quick reply.
“Lunch was an unexpected pleasure. I’m glad to hear you had fun today too.”
I sigh as I click off the site, and then I let my thoughts wander to Christopher. I think it’s time to do a little research.
Chapter 4
My Internet search doesn’t bring up anything scandalous about Christopher Pierce. Quite the opposite, in fact. I find a fair number of glowing articles about Chef Impostor as well as images of him at a variety of different fundraisers. The man doesn’t seem to take a bad picture, and if I were still running Bellae, I’d consider him as a spokesmodel for the men’s line. I chuckle at myself. I believe I’m smitten.
I’m meeting Christopher at his boat at four o’clock, and I feel the need to bring wine since he’s likely to feed me again. Cool air blasts at me as I descend the stairs to the basement, where my wine cellar is located. I’m not a big drinker, but I do like to have a bottle on hand for company and to bring as gifts. Glass clinks as I pull selections out of the rack to inspect the labels. I peruse a few before I recall one I purchased named Deception. I remember it was nothing special, but in this case, impressing Christopher with the flavor is not my concern, and I grin as I walk back upstairs with the wine in my hand.
This time I’m prepared for sailing, and I arrive at the dock in shorts, boat shoes, and sunglasses and carry a warm fleece for when the sun goes down, and there is plenty of sunscreen in my makeup. I don’t bother to pull up my sunglasses as I approach Christopher. Because he can’t see my eyes, I scan his body with my gaze as I stalk my prey. His legs are muscular in his khaki shorts, which are just snug enough on his hips to show off his attractive backside, and when my gaze rises, I notice how broad his shoulders are in a polo shirt. I may have already forgiven him for the trick he pulled yesterday, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him off the hook easily.
“Diana,” he says, and he flashes a stellar smile my way.
“Charlie.” I smile right back as I remove the bottle of wine from my bag. It’s heavy in my palm as I hand it to him and ask, “Or is it Christopher?”
He takes the bottle and grins when he reads it. “I’ve been found out so soon.”
“You had to know I’d discover the truth, and that makes me curious. What was that stunt yesterday about?”
�
��In my professional life, I use Christopher. It’s my father’s name he passed down to me, but when I was growing up, everyone called me Charlie to avoid confusion. I’d prefer you call me that, if you don’t mind.”
Charlie takes my bag from my shoulder as he steps onto the boat, and he holds out a hand to me. “That explains the name,” I say as I lean on his strong arm. “But why did you lie about not being my date?”
“I’m not sure I lied exactly.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “I mean, I did admonish your date for being late, after all.”
“Yes, you did. But you didn’t bother to inform me that it was you.”
Keith hands me and Charlie each a glass of champagne before he takes my bag from Charlie to put it in the galley. Bubbles fizz on the top of my drink as I make my way to the front of the boat where I know it’s safe to sit.
Charlie follows me, and I lift my sunglasses as I turn to face him. He says, “First, I’ll admit I was late getting the boat here, and that I had no intention of lunch at the club, even though that was supposed to be our arrangement.”
I tilt my head at him. “So the sandwich wasn’t something you just whipped up from ingredients on hand?”
“Correct.”
I lower myself to sit and cross my legs. I’m enjoying the banter, and I swing my foot as I say, “Go on.”
“I suppose I could have told you what I had planned, but to be honest, I was afraid you might be another woman who wanted to tell me how she was decorating the pool house this summer.” He pauses and appears pensive before he adds, “That would have made for a very long afternoon.”
I say, “Oh please, you’re a clever man. I’m sure you could have come up with some excuse to cut the date short.” I smile as I sip my champagne, and the flavor is smooth with a tart finish on my tongue. I glance at the glass. “This is lovely.” I turn my focus back to Charlie and ask, “So how did you know I wouldn’t tell you about my decorating plans?”
He seats himself next to me as the fabric of the sails snaps in the wind while Keith sets us on our course. Charlie lifts his glass and says, “You were more concerned about your phone than your drink.”
I chuckle. “Are you insinuating women who decorate are alcoholics?”
“Actually, the fact you were in cahoots with me about Bitsy was all I needed for assurance you’d be fun.”
“Aha. You didn’t want a lunch date. You wanted an accomplice.”
Charlie leans in close and speaks softly as he says, “I wanted a smart woman with a sense of adventure, and I think I’ve found her.”
I lick my lips as I glance down at his mouth. “You have.” I give in to my impulse to kiss him. I taste the remnants of champagne and more when his tongue darts into my mouth for a brief exploration. He pulls away slowly when we’re done, and I let out the breath I was holding as he traps me in his gaze.
Charlie lets out a low noise from the back of his throat before he takes a deep breath and says, “As I recall, you didn’t seem too concerned about skipping out on your date, who wasn’t even fifteen minutes late.”
I take another sip of my champagne to delay my answer. I lick my lips and get the intended effect when his eyes widen a bit, and I say, “I’d choose sailing any day over a date with someone who wants to share their latest stock predictions or golf handicap.” I can’t contain my grin over repeating his words from yesterday.
“And what if I’d managed to get you on my boat only to bore you with such details?”
I lean back and say, “I know how to swim.”
Charlie chuckles as Keith approaches us with the champagne bottle and a tray of appetizers. I take one off the platter when it’s offered. It appears to be cheese with diced sweet-pepper salsa on toasted bread, but the flavor that fills my mouth is so much better than I expected. I close my eyes for a moment to enjoy it. When I swallow down my mouthful and Keith has left us, I say, “You’re dangerously good at this food thing.”
“You said you were up for trouble this summer.” Charlie takes my glass and sets it down before he pulls me to my feet. His palms are warm on my skin when he slides them down my arms and catches my hands in his before he leans in to kiss me. I thread my fingers through his as we press our bodies together and drink each other in. Charlie breaks away and breathes out, “Diana.” His exhalation wavers before he manages to compose himself and ask, “Have I mentioned my golf handicap?”
I shake my head as a grin covers my face. “Not yet. Want to see pictures of the towels I picked out?”
Charlie dazzles me with his smile before he says, “We’re going to drop anchor and grill, if that’s okay with you.”
“That sounds wonderful.” I grab my drink and turn to gaze out at the water. Charlie steps behind me to slip his arm around my waist, and I lean back against him. “I might have had retirement all wrong. I should have bought a sailboat.”
“They’re a lot of work, and not nearly as fun without someone to go with.”
“I suppose.” I tip my head back and let the wind blow through my hair. I inhale the salty air before I say, “But nothing compares to this.”
Charlie places his lips below my ear, and a shiver runs down my spine as he kisses me softly. He whispers, “No, nothing does.”
Chapter 5
A hot mug of coffee warms my hands as I gaze out my kitchen window toward the ocean. After a delicious dinner on Charlie’s boat, we lay out under the stars and shared stories from our pasts. The night ended with a steamy kiss that left me wishing he’d pressed for more. I wander over to my laptop, and my fingernail clicks on a key when I tap to wake it up.
I log into the Chef Impostor forum and click on my messages, but when I get there, I discover Chef P. still hasn’t responded. I know he wanted to hear more about my date, and I feel bad I couldn’t open up. I type another message to him.
“I hope all is going well. I miss our chats. Diana.”
I get a sinking feeling in my stomach as I think over our past conversations. I recall when Chef P. mentioned we should get together for coffee and I ignored it. At the time, I was afraid to let him know who I really was and ruin a good friendship, but apparently, that worry was for nothing, because he seems to be moving on. I suppose the advice I always gave my children about online people not being the same as real friends rings true. I smile through my sadness, because the fact Chef P. and I are moving on to real-life people is a good thing.
I go to the forum to browse through the threads to see if anything catches my eye. I click on a champagne discussion and recall the flavor of the one I had last night. As I’m reading through the posts, a notification pops up to announce that Chef P. has replied to me, and I open the window. My heart skips a beat.
“I’m swamped but fine. We’ll chat soon. C.P.”
My chest tightens at his short message, but I try not to read too much into it. People with jobs don’t always have time to entertain the unemployed, and I’m probably making more out of this than there is. I move on to surf through a few marketing blogs and get my daily dose of business before I’m bored and get up in search of breakfast. The only thing on my agenda today is a golf lesson. A small knot forms in my stomach. I’m terrible at the sport, and I hate not being good at something. I’m told I just need practice, but I’m not so sure.
When I get up to refill my coffee, my housekeeper Trina comes in from the laundry room and asks, “Are you ready for breakfast?”
“Yes, please. Could you make me an omelet? Any vegetables in it will do.” She nods, and I say, “Thank you.”
I sit at the counter and sip my hot drink as I watch Trina’s able hands work. When I was driving into the Bellae offices in the city each morning, I never had time to cook, let alone watch someone do it. I know I don’t need Trina every day the way I used to, but she’s been with me so long I can’t imagine letting her go. While I’ve always made it a point to know the people who work in my home, I’ve had time to get to know Trina better over the past few weeks and ask, “Did you fi
nd a dress for your daughter’s wedding yesterday?”
“I did.” She glances over her shoulder to me. “You were right about the cut for my figure, and I found one that’s perfect. Thank you.”
My mug thuds on the counter when I set it down. “Good. I expect to see lots of pictures with you looking fabulous.”
Plates rattle in the cupboard as Trina pulls one down, and as she slides my eggs onto it, the doorbell rings. She sets my meal in front of me before she leaves. Trina runs my household, and it doesn’t occur to me to even wonder what was delivered as I put a forkful of food into my mouth. But when she says, “Someone has an admirer,” I turn to notice a huge bouquet of roses blocking Trina’s face as she carries at least two dozen pale-peach flowers over to me. Their scent is strong as she sets them on the counter, and I retrieve the card.
“I hope these match your towels. I can’t wait to hear about the lounge chairs. Charlie”
I smile as I inhale the aroma, and Trina says, “Those are gorgeous.”
“They’re from my date last night.”
“From your smile, I’d say this is a welcome gesture.”
My grin nearly cracks my face as warmth fills me, and I hand Trina the card and explain the joke.
Trina chuckles as she hands the note back to me, and I return to my breakfast. When I finish, I practically float to my bedroom to prepare for my golf lesson, and a drawer scrapes open in my bureau as I recall how it wasn’t long ago Chef P. and I were lamenting the state of our love lives. I told him I was a hopeless romantic. I said that no matter how successful at business I was, I still appreciate being swept off my feet by a man. Champagne, roses, and thoughtful gestures warm my heart, while the unexpected adventure enchants me. I also mentioned I wasn’t sure something like that could happen at my age. He told me not to lose hope, and he’d see what he could do to make my wish come true. I’ll have to mention to him he worked his magic beautifully.
When I get to the club, my euphoric state is deflated the moment I realize I’m in Bitsy’s sights, and I glance around for an escape. Unfortunately, I’m not as lucky as Charlie was the other day, and I brace myself for her attack.
Hot Silver Nights: Silver Fox Romance Collection Page 3