by Claire Adams
"Don't mention it," Xavier said, but he looked at me with an arched brow.
"Thank you," I said and made a beeline for the house.
Penn's father was on to me, and I didn't like how his dark eyes seemed to look straight through me. I hoped he was about to go off on a round of business meetings or conference calls, but Xavier seemed to be at leisure. He strolled into the kitchen as I was washing an apple in the sink. I pretended not to notice him, but that made everything worse.
I got nervous, and when I'm nervous, I sing. I didn't even realize I was doing it until I turned around and saw Xavier's face. The sharp suspicion was softened as he held his eyes almost closed and listened.
When I stopped, Xavier's eyes flew open. "You really do have talent, and that's the truth."
"Why do you say it like that?" I asked, my fingers bruising the apple. "Do you think I'm lying about other things?"
"I'm not sure." Xavier was honest. "There's something you're hiding, but I'm not sure it has to do with Penn."
I shrugged, determined not to give an inch to a man who'd always gotten everything. "You're paranoid. Actually, it's very understandable. You're stuck in a situation that you cannot control where you are trying to protect people you love. The only problem is that what you're trying to protect those loved ones against will never be under your control. So, you're looking for someone to blame."
"Do they teach grief-counseling in hospitality school?"
I sighed. "Still studying my background check?"
"No," Xavier said, "and I'm not going to apologize about that."
I set the apple down and looked at Penn's father. "And I'm not going to apologize for being here for your son. He apparently needed someone on his side for once."
Xavier gave a sad laugh. "That's the truth. I'm not against him–I've never been against him–it's just that we never seem to be on the same team. I just hope that you really are."
"Trying to control things that are out of your control is going to exhaust you."
His smile had a sharp edge. "So wise for someone so young. That's what's off about you. Still, I have to admit that you're right. Just remember, Corsica; love is out of everyone's control."
Penn joined us in the kitchen, wary of our quiet and serious tones. "Please tell me you are not trying to interrogate my future bride."
"No," Xavier sighed. "We were just talking about how love can reach out and knock you off your chosen path, no matter who you are or who you think you want to be."
"What was all that about?" Penn asked me when his father left.
"Are you sure he isn't on to us?" I asked, rubbing my forehead.
He snorted. "You're the one who invited him to stay here, remember? Don't worry. Business will soon grab his attention again. The man can't live without his work. You'll see. Nothing else will matter when there's a new deal on the table."
I felt my headache tighten. It wasn't Xavier I was worried about. It was my deal with Penn. How was I going to keep up my end if I myself was falling in love?
Chapter Eleven
Penn
Corsica is wearing a new dress, I thought. Or maybe one of her few designer pieces in a new way. I didn't want to admit it, but I had snooped through her room earlier in the day.
She was a complete mystery to me, even more so now that I knew her suitcase was very light. Yet every day she was a new combination of fashion and expense. It seemed to prove she was used to making something of nothing, but I worried it also showed her desire for only the good things in life. What if Corsica wanted nothing but the best money could buy?
I could give her anything she desired, but that thought made my heart twist hard. That's something my father had tried to do with my mother. When it didn't work, he covered up the failure with alcohol, and things only got worse.
Maybe this was Corsica, rich or poor, I hoped.
She swatted away my father's hand when he tried to add a few herbs to the sauce she was cooking. "I don't care how sophisticated your palate is; if you screw up my mother's recipe, I'll toss this whole pot in the ocean," Corsica said.
My father laughed, and I hated to admit I liked the sound. Instead, I sauntered into the kitchen and leaned over Corsica's shoulder. "Looks good, but not nearly as good as this outfit you're wearing."
She elbowed me in the ribs. "Quit teasing me. I'm living out of a suitcase."
"If you won't let me help with the cooking, then I'll just go pick a wine," Xavier said.
I nuzzled her neck long after my father had left the kitchen. "I wasn't putting on a show for him," I said, lips still tracing along her shoulder. "You look wonderful."
"I've been wearing one of three dresses this whole time. I might need to go shopping while we're here." Corsica shied away from my continued kisses.
"No," I said, wondering if she expected me to pay for a spree. "I think it's just you. You look more elegant when you're relaxed."
Corsica shook her head, unwilling to accept the compliment. "How can I relax when your father's been critiquing each step of this recipe and you're distracting me? Do you really want burned sauce?"
I laughed and caught her hand. "I don't care if we have to throw the whole dinner out. What's this wonderful song?"
Her cheeks colored as I pulled her into a slow dance. We swayed, pressed close together in the kitchen until my father returned.
He put the bottle of wine down on the counter and made no move to give us privacy. "I can play this song," he said, and then his phone rang. "I promise I'll play it again for you later, but I have to take this call."
"That's too bad," Corsica said as my father promptly disappeared. "Why can't he, of all people, just take the night off?"
I shrugged. "He likes working, and God knows it's the only thing he does well."
"He plays piano really well."
I let Corsica return to the stove to stir her sauce. "I remember one time my father made me go with him to a charity event. I had to wear a white suit. Xavier picked it out, of course, because no one else but my father would think to put a seven-year-old in a white suit."
"You must have looked so sweet," Corsica smiled.
I grimaced. "Who knows? All I could think was that I was being tortured. It was a really fancy event, but the caterers took pity on me and brought me a bowl of spaghetti."
Her lips curled up in a smile. "Your father let you eat spaghetti in a white suit?"
"No," I said. "He had left me at our table an hour before that, some conference call or something. I was mad and hungry, so I dug in. By the time he returned, I looked like something out of a horror film. He was so angry; we left right then and there. I went to stay with my mother that weekend."
"So, you don't like nice clothes," Corsica said with a shrug. "When I was seven, all I wanted was a new dress for Easter. My father said no, and it almost broke my heart. Then, my mother found me daydreaming over an old lace tablecloth we had. In the morning, the tablecloth was gone, and I had a beautiful dress complete with embroidered rosebuds. It was perfect."
"Sounds like you were Cinderella," I said.
Corsica's eyes drifted away. "I thought I was, too, until we went to church. My father had been drinking already, and he told everyone how I got such a pretty dress. I think he was trying to compliment my mother, but all the kids made fun of me the entire day."
I froze. "Your father drank, too?"
She turned to the stove and took her time tasting the sauce. "Your father is really serious about his sobriety. You should give him a chance."
My voice was harsher than I intended. "You have no idea what he's really like. This, all of this, is just an act. He was always charming, always so interested in everyone, and always so loving. Then, I realized that was just the secret of his success. Underneath it, the part that drinking revealed, he's petty and jealous and mean."
"That wasn't just the alcohol?" Her eyes were shadowed, strained.
"If I believed that, then I would have to believe my mother was b
eaten just by accident. And, I'm sorry. I just can't look at all those times he sent her across the room with a slap and think that it wasn't really him."
Corsica put down the wooden spoon and came to stand right in front of me. "You were so young. You must have been terrified."
I flinched away from her hands. "I wasn't terrified. I was outraged. The only problem was that I was just a little boy, and I couldn't protect my mother."
"But you were there for her," Corsica said. She refused to let me turn away and grabbed my face with both hands. I didn't see any pity in her eyes, only understanding. "You were powerless, but you did what you could. You shouldn't have to feel guilty if it wasn't enough."
Our lips brushed, and I felt a jolt like an earthquake. Somehow she understood, and that connection shook me harder than the bright pulse of desire I felt for her.
#
That pulse had turned to a knot by morning, and when I woke up, I was stiff with wanting Corsica. The song we had danced to echoed in my head, despite the fact that the version I heard was the one my father had played for her. It was tangled with thoughts of my hands sliding around her waist, her lips brushing mine, and our legs pressing against each other under the linen tablecloth. Then there was the glorious few minutes when my father had gone to bed, but Corsica worried we should keep up our engaged pretense.
We had stayed curled up on the leather sofa, my hand brushing along the bare heat of her shoulder and arm. Before it was obvious that we were alone, I stole a kiss. Actually, it was more like Corsica had surrendered a kiss to me. Her head fell back on the sofa, lips opening so I could taste her deeper.
I groaned and sat up. I had to find a way to make Corsica spend the night with me. There had to be a way our ruse would force it. Then, I could kiss her like that again, take it further, and hopefully get her out of my system before I lost my mind.
"Hello?" I was still groggy and hard when I answered the phone call.
It was my assistant, and before I hit the second syllable of my greeting, he let loose a long list of things I needed to get done as soon as possible.
"I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm doing all I can, but there's a reason you're the boss and I'm the assistant," he complained. "And I know I shouldn't interrupt your family vacation, but I'm afraid some of this stuff needs to be sorted out now."
"Family vacation?" I yanked on a pair of jeans and headed to the kitchen for coffee. "Is that the excuse you're giving people?"
My assistant paused, annoyed that I was off-topic. "Yes. I mean, no. You told me it was a family medical emergency. Then, I just assumed you were taking the rest of the time to spend with your family."
"Yeah, that's it," I said, completely distracted as the front door of the house opened.
Corsica sailed in, lit up with residual energy from her long, morning run. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting her salty skin.
"Are you swearing at me? I didn't know when else to call. Is there a better time?" my assistant all but wailed into the phone.
"What? No. I'm not swearing at you. Now is fine."
Corsica noticed me and gave me a bright smile. "I'm going to make scrambled eggs and hash browns. Want some?"
I was starving, but not just for breakfast. My mind dangled between the ache Corsica gave me, that grew more solid every time I saw her, and my need to get back to normal before I lost it completely. "No, thanks. Coffee," I said.
She brought the pot and a mug over to me and then noticed the phone balanced on my shoulder. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."
Corsica was being so nice that it made me mad. All I wanted to do was throw the phone and make love to her here on the kitchen floor. She, on the other hand, didn't look at all affected by my half-nakedness. It burned me that I wanted her so badly and she just breezed back to the stove as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
"Boss? You still there?" my assistant squeaked.
"Yes, let me just get somewhere quieter where I can concentrate," I snapped. I made sure Corsica noticed me, all business despite my lack of shirt, as I paced around the living room. I grabbed the laptop that I didn't need, a pad of paper that was actually covered in a thin layer of dust, and hustled off to my unused office.
She was getting the message until my best friend Phillip threw the front door open and didn't even pause before interrupting me. "Oh, good, your phone is working. I love when I walk long distances just to find out I'm being ignored."
Corsica smiled and offered him a cup of coffee. "It's a business call," she explained on my behalf.
Phillip snorted. "Then you know what a workaholic he is. Too bad. I thought he was finally starting to see the light."
I couldn't defend myself with my assistant anxiously delivering a litany of work tasks into my ear. "This will only take a second," I snapped at Phillip. "I'm not a workaholic. And your place is not even a mile from here."
"Who cares if you're back to your 'all work and no play' ways," Phillip asked with a rude gesture directed at me. "I'm just here to see if Corsica wants to join me for a little sightseeing. Maybe some window shopping down Cannery Row?"
I hung up on my assistant, but not before Corsica beamed. "I'd love to go. Thank you! Let me just shower and get ready. Ten minutes. All I need is ten minutes," she called over her shoulder.
Phillip watched her go and whistled under his breath. "Ten minutes? I believe it, but God, she could have said three days and I think I would still wait. What in the hell are you doing, Penn?"
"What do you mean?" I snapped as my phone started to ring again. In Corsica's guest room, I could hear the shower running, and the images that inspired were not helping me concentrate. "I'm not doing anything."
"That is exactly my point," Phillip said. "You've got a woman like Corsica right in front of you, and you're trying to concentrate on work? When are you finally going to agree that your priorities are completely out of whack?"
I snorted. "Since when do you think securing a fortune, one that you invested in, is a low priority?"
"Give it a break, Penn," Phillip laughed. "We're already rich. When you get around to accepting that fact, Corsica and I will be on Cannery Row. I hear there's a great little karaoke bar down there."
Corsica was ready within her ten minutes, as promised. She flew back into the kitchen, a cloud of floral scent and fresh skin. I grabbed the counter and ignored my phone as it rang for the third time.
"Coming?" Phillip asked.
"No. I've got to take this call," I ground out.
Corsica blew me a kiss, and it clung to me, the way her sexy, clean scent clung to the air around me.
I had always loved work and always worked hard. It had never bothered me to be a workaholic before, but now I felt a different pull. I never minded missing out before, but that was before it was Corsica I was missing.
I dealt with my assistant as fast as I could. After a flurry of emails, an argument about a contract, and a quick conference call, I was done. There were at least four hours of work left for me to wade through, but I couldn't take it anymore. Corsica was off with my friends, and I couldn't concentrate until I saw that she was all right. That excuse held until I caught up with them at the little basement karaoke bar.
Phillip made fun of me as soon as he saw me. "I thought you might not be able to resist."
"That has nothing to do with it," I said. "I'm just here to make sure you aren't filling her head with stories."
"Like the truth?" Phillip asked.
I looked around, annoyed, but we were alone for the moment. Tamara and Bill waved from the bar where they were ordering another round. "Where's Corsica?"
"Restroom," Phillip said, "which gives us plenty of time to discuss why you can't just tell her you're almost as loaded as your father."
"You know damn well why."
My friend shook his head. "I know you're stuck on this whole 'people treat you different when you have money' idea, but it doesn't hold for everyone. I've met lots and lots of people who don't ca
re at all how much I make. You know people can be happy without money, right?"
I rolled my eyes. "I know that, but I think someone might have to tell Corsica. She's bent on getting all she can in this life."
"I don't know. Yeah, she talks about it, but it seems like a defense mechanism or something. She only talks about her career and financial aspirations when she doesn't want to talk about her past."
I wanted to punch Phillip because he was right. How he had managed, within a few short hours, to sort out Corsica's mixed signals was irritating. "That's a good theory, but I'm not convinced yet."
"Then maybe I still have a chance to change your mind." Alicia slid into the seat next to me and gave me a warm smile. "What are we talking about?"
"Corsica," Phillip said before I could stop him. He was always the one who liked pouring gasoline on a fire.
Alicia's eyes narrowed, but she kept her smile in place. "Yes, what did she say she had studied at school? Hospitality? Seems like if she'd grown up with the right etiquette, those classes would be unnecessary."
"What do you mean 'the right etiquette?'" I asked.
"Oh, nothing," Alicia tossed her hair. "It's just that no matter how charming she is, or beautiful, or how many classes she took, she'll still just be the hotel worker that no one remembers. The one from…where is she from again?"
"Wow, am I sensing a little jealousy?" Phillip asked with a mischievous smile.
Alicia blinked her large eyes innocently. "We've all talked about this countless times before. People attach themselves to us because they think we can pull them up, but everyone has their level in life. It's not up to us to change that."
"Or judge people based on it," I snapped. "I can't believe you think it matters where someone grew up."
"Yeah," Phillip snorted, "maybe she should take a trip to the heartland herself."
Alicia pursed her lips. "I can't believe you two are trying to make me into the enemy here. Phillip, you've been caught up with a social climber dozens of times before. Do you really recommend it?"