Getting Lucky m-2

by Susan Andersen

  Lily brought him a cup of coffee while they waited, and he carried it over to the French doors, staring out into the yard as he sipped it. He wasn't sure when it had begun to rain, but a fine, steady drizzle turned the world outside the windows a misty gray. It soaked the terrace furniture and formed a murky curtain that obscured the bluff and the straits beyond.

  Richard arrived breathless a minute later, and a moment after that Christopher barreled through the door with Jessica in tow. Since Maureen had only told them the bare bones on the phone, Zach filled them in on the details of what had transpired. Richard immediately left to gather the ledgers from the office, and Christopher ran back upstairs for his laptop computer. As soon as both men returned, they sat down to figure out which aspects of the family business could be liquidated and how long it would take to do so.

  Zach watched them for a while, then paced the perimeters of the room, covertly studying the dynamics of the Beaumont family.

  Both men were obviously well trained and business-minded, but Christopher seemed to have a more concrete idea of which assets were expendable, and without discussion he assumed the dominant role. Richard didn't appear to have any problem with the pecking order, but Zach noted it all the same.

  Down by the fireplace at the other end of the room, Cassidy sat in an overstuffed chair and flipped through the pages of a magazine, her legs crossed and one foot tapping the air impatiently. Jessica fussed over her aunt on an adjacent couch, keeping the older woman anchored with whatever she was saying to her in her soft voice.

  And then there was Lily. She wasn't a part of the family dynamics, of course, but of them all, she was the one his eyes were drawn to most often.

  She bustled around the room, jewelry jingling as she saw to it that everyone had coffee. Now that he no longer viewed her through the narrow end of his own misconceptions, he was beginning to notice things he'd missed before. He saw, for instance, that for all that she looked like some rich man's trophy squeeze, she had a down-to-earth basic kindness about her.

  When she topped off Mrs. Beaumont's cup, she reached out and patted the older woman's shoulder. She squeezed Jessica's hand as she spoke quietly to both women. Yet the men, he noted as he watched her go over to refill Christopher's and Richard's cups, she didn't touch at all. She talked to them easily, but kept her hands strictly to herself.

  As early as this morning he would have expected it to be just the opposite. Then again, earlier this morning he also probably would have expected her to sit around like Cassidy, exhibiting an air of entitlement as she waited for someone else to attend to her needs. Instead, Lily was the one waiting on everyone, and it obviously didn't make her feel the least bit diminished to do so.

  Discovering yet more evidence of just how far off base he'd been with her was about as welcome as a case of the clap. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, then dropped his hands to his sides and watched as she brushed a spill of sugar off a table into her cupped palm and walked over to toss it into the fireplace. He wasn't a man who ordinarily jumped to hasty, ill-thought-out conclusions. Nor was he accustomed to being in the wrong.

  He hated that lately he'd been both.

  "Okay, that seems to be it," Christopher said, and Zach turned to him in relief. He'd think of a way to apologize later. Hell, maybe he should just kiss her again; that had worked pretty slick the last time he'd felt the need to admit he was wrong.

  Are you out of your mind? He managed not to pound his head against the nearest wall, but just barely. Jesus, Taylor. You keep your damn distance from that dame before she completely screws up your head . Besides, wouldn't this apology simply be more of the same old, same old anyway? He was getting confused. Was he in the wrong again or in the wrong still.

  His headache was starting to come back—he couldn't think about this any more. Right here, right now— thank you, Jesus —he had a situation that needed his attention, and it was something with which he actually had some experience. Walking over to where the two men were tossing their pencils onto the table and pushing their chairs back, he demanded, "You've projected a timetable for getting the money together?"

  "Yes." Christopher plowed his hands through his expensively barbered hair and stretched his elbows toward the ceiling as he dug all ten fingers into the muscles at the base of his skull. "If I get started right away, we ought to be able to liquidate everything we need in four days. Five at the outside."

  Zach froze. Well, well. What an amazing coincidence. That was the exact amount of time the kidnapper had generously allowed them to raise the ransom money.

  Funny thing, though. Zach had never been the type of man who believed in coincidences.

  And suddenly this reeked to him of an inside job.

  Miguel dashed back to his car through the rain. He let himself in and turned on the engine, immediately cranking the heater to high. Then, shivering, he shook out his hands like a wet cat, flicking drops of water all over the dash. Dios , it was cold! More than anything—more than the mellifluous language of his country, more than its foods so full of flavor and spice—he missed the bone-melting heat of Colombia. He was ready to go home.

  He didn't intend to go back, though, with his tail tucked between his legs. When he returned to his village, he'd do so walking tall—the people of Bisinlejo would not see a man who allowed great wrongs to go unpunished. No indeed, what they would see was a man who avenged his honor.

  But first the blonde puta had to come out of the big house.

  Leaning over the steering wheel, he wiped a circle in the windshield with his sleeve to clear the fogged glass, and peered out. But the haze wasn't all on the inside of the car. The weather was socked in.

  He'd never seen anything like it. In Bisinlejo when it rained, it came down in violent torrents that pelted the ground and pummeled the surrounding foliage, but just as quickly stopped. One could always count on the sun to come out again and evaporate the moisture until nothing remained but vagrant wisps of steam rising from the ground. This rain, though—it was a thick, almost mistlike drizzle that quickly soaked everything in its path. It seemed to find its way into every crack and crevice, no matter how well you thought you defended against it, and it sank to the bone, chilling and stiffening the joints.

  A short while ago he'd pulled out a package of crackers left over from one of the petrol stops he'd made on the way here and had eaten them for breakfast. Although they'd been well wrapped, they were completely limp and soggy.

  Still, he could live with that. But he was dressed all wrong, he was running out of food, and what provisions he did have were in pitiful condition. Worse, no one in the big house had ventured out of doors all morning long, and even if the master sergeant's woman should come outside, Miguel's teeth were chattering so loudly, she'd probably hear him a kilometer away and run for the hills!

  With sudden decision, he reached for the shift lever, put the car in gear, and released the emergency brake. Leaning forward to peer cautiously in all directions, he inched the car out of its hiding place and started down the narrow country road. Since he didn't have any idea what Taylor's plans might be or how long this might take, he could very well be stuck here for a good long while yet.

  But regardless whether that turned out to be the case or he accomplished his mission tomorrow, it was definitely time to find the nearest town and properly outfit himself.

  Chapter 13

  ALONE IN THE KITCHEN, LILY CHOPPED, DICED, AND minced everything that wasn't nailed down. Restlessness burned through her veins and along her skin like a fast-spreading rash. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to get the session with Zach in the upstairs hallway out of her mind.

  Whoever would have guessed that a guy so hard-edged aggressive could kiss with such devastating subtleness and restraint? At least at first he had. But then he'd really got cooking, and…

  Heat suffused her. She stared blindly across the kitchen as she relived those too few moments, her knife suspended over the potatoes she was curre
ntly reducing to uniform cubes. Again she experienced the hunger with which he'd kissed her, recalled the hard length of him wedged solidly between her thighs, remembered the friction and heat she'd felt as he'd rocked and ground against her, generally driving her insane.

  The knife slipped from her fingers with a clatter. Startled, she jerked back to reality, and reached for a napkin to blot the perspiration that dotted her forehead, her cleavage, her upper lip. What was it about that man?

  A different president had been in office the last time she'd had sex, and she'd never been the sort of woman to tumble into bed with a guy simply because she liked the cut of his jeans. Even if he was a great kisser.

  So she was safe. It was a case of momentary lust, that was all. Refuse to give into it, and it would pass.

  Only…

  What if that wasn't all? A small moan escaped her. It hardly seemed credible, but she had an awful feeling she was starting to harbor feelings for Zach. Genuine, caring feelings.

  She tried to push the thought aside, for the very idea scared her silly. She couldn't care for him. Not only had she not known him long enough, but to care— stop thinking the word, darn it !—would threaten her lifelong dream to settle down in one place and open her own restaurant. The last thing she wanted was to fall for some soldier whose very profession was synonymous with moving. She'd had a bellyful of that lifestyle already.

  Besides, you had to really know a person in order to care for him, and she didn't have a clue who the real Zachariah Taylor was. Was he the guy who could be totally rude and crude and talk to her as if she were some no-account bimbo? The devil who'd kissed her like his soul was on the brink of damnation and she was his salvation—or more realistically, like he was determined to pull her into the Dark Side with him? Or was he the man who'd stopped for a second at the bottom of the stairs to make sure she was all right?

  Maybe he was all three. Right this moment, though, it was the man who'd kissed her senseless who, quite frankly, kept drawing her thoughts off track. Oh, Lord, that mouth. That hot and talented mouth—

  Holy smokes, enough already! Yanking off her apron, she found some containers, scraped the various mounds of vegetables into them, and put everything into the fridge. She had to get out of here. Get her mind on something else. Now .

  Moments later, after a quick detour to her room for her purse, she knocked on Jessica's door. It was obvious the other woman was surprised to see her standing there, but Jessica had gracious behavior down to a fine art, and she quickly masked her reaction.

  "Well, hi," she said and stepped back from the door. "Please. Come in."

  Lily waved away the invitation. "I don't mean to intrude on your private time. I just wanted to bring you this"—she extended the lipstick she'd promised earlier—"and ask directions to a decent grocery store. I was doing some meal planning and realized I'm going to need a few supplies. Especially the fresh stuff like veggies and fruit, and milk and eggs."

  Jessica grasped her arm and tugged her over the threshold. "Come in," she repeated. "Let me just put on some shoes, and I'll drive you into Eastsound."

  "Oh, you don't have to—" But Lily cut off her protest as she followed Jessica into a cozily furnished suite. No sense in working overtime to sabotage herself; Jessica's help would be much appreciated. "That is—if you're sure it's not too big a bother?"

  "Not at all. I wouldn't mind getting out for a while, myself." She peered uncertainly down at the lipstick in her hand. "I'll just go brush my teeth and apply a little of this, and then we can take off. Make yourself comfortable; I'll be right back."

  She left the room, and Lily gazed around curiously, happy for the opportunity to get a closer look at the touches that gave the room its welcoming warmth. She was admiring two small quilts that hung over the navy velvet couch and one that was draped over the back of an antique rocking chair when Jessica returned wearing shoes and lipstick, and carrying a small purse in her hand. Lily gave her a quick smile, then went back to studying the craftsmanship in the wail quilts. "Are these your work?"

  "Yes."

  "My God, Jessica, they're fabulous. These are what you called your little hobby? I'm surprised you're not selling them professionally."

  Jessica joined her in front of the exquisitely crafted blue, sand, and bronze-toned pair. Her expression was skeptical as she gazed at them. "You really think they're good enough to sell?"

  "Yes! My goodness, I've seen quilts that aren't half this nice selling for hundreds of dollars. Do you have any others?"

  Jessica emitted a sound that in a less mannerly woman might have been considered a snort and walked over to an old leather and brass humpbacked trunk. She opened it and removed its top tray to reveal the stack of quilts within, an eclectic conglomeration of patterns, colors, and sizes.

  Lily sank to her knees on the hardwood floor in front of the trunk. Reaching in, she pulled out several quilts and examined them avidly. "Wow." She tore her gaze away long enough to look up at their creator. "I feel like I'm in the yuppy version of Santa's workshop."

  Jessica's cheeks turned pink with pleasure. "You really like them that much?" At Lily's enthusiastic nod, she asked, "You want one?"

  "Are you crazy? You can't just give these away!"

  "Sure I can. You gave me a lipstick."

  "Yeah, worth fifteen bucks. This"—her hands hovered over the rich terra cotta, black, and clay colored primitive-style quilt that was her favorite—" this has to be worth hundreds of dollars. Maybe even tens of hundreds."

  Jessica grinned. "Boy, you're good for my ego."

  "Yeah? Well, as long as I'm doing such a bang-up job, I gotta tell ya, you look really great in that lipstick." Then Lily laughed. "Okay, that's actually a stroke for my ego, since I called it right when I said the color would be perfect for you. But still. You've got pretty lips—you should showcase them all the time."

  "Oh, my." Jessica laughed too, and pulled the quilt Lily had admired out of the stack and thrust it at her. "Here, you take this. I think you overestimate its worth, but even if you haven't, just hearing somebody say that something about me is pretty is worth—how did you put it?—tens of hundreds of dollars."

  Lily hugged the quilt to her breast. "I passed up your first offer, but I only do my martyr act once. Don't even try to get this back now." She studied Jessica curiously as the other woman closed up the trunk and they let themselves out of the suite. "I imagine your husband must tell you you're pretty."

  "Oh, well, sure, but… you know." She shrugged and looked uncomfortable. "Isn't it almost a rule that he has to say so? I think it's in the Official Husband's Handbook, or something."

  "I wouldn't know about that; I've never been married. And I obviously don't know your husband well enough to form an ironclad opinion, but just offhand, he doesn't strike me as the type of guy to say stuff he doesn't mean." Lily realized that something about this conversational tack was making Jessica feel awkward, though, so she changed the subject. "Let's go drop this off in my room, and then we can hit the grocers. Are there any clothing stores where we're going? I could sure use something warmer than what I brought with me. If we hadn't left California in such a hurry, I might've taken a minute to realize the weather up here was bound to be colder than I'm used to."

  She'd also left home without a lot of cash, so they hit the ATM machine first thing when they got to the small, picturesque town of Eastsound. Then, deciding to save the grocery shopping until last to avoid having to leave unrefrigerated food in the car, they dashed through the drizzle to the nearest clothing boutique.

  Jessica watched Lily in baffled wonder as the other woman selected two warm sweaters and a lightweight rain jacket in about seven minutes flat, and some of her enjoyment in this unexpected shopping trip drained away. "Well, that's certainly demoralizing."

  Lily paused on her way to the cash register to look back at her. "What is?"

  "The way every woman in the world except me seems to be born knowing these things." At Lily's raised
eyebrows, Jess waved a hand to indicate the garments the little blonde was about to purchase. "Everything you chose is perfect for you, and you didn't even have to think about it. How did you know exactly what to buy?"

  Lily shrugged. "I figured out a long time ago what works best with my coloring and body type, and I just stick within the range I came up with."

  "See what I mean? I wouldn't even have a clue what my range is."

  Lily simply looked at her for a moment, then asked, "Who decorated your apartment at the house, Jessica?"

  It seemed like an abrupt and odd switch in the conversation, but rather than let on Jessica politely admitted, "I did."

  "And do you select all the fabrics for your quilts?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Then you're certainly capable of learning what your range is. You have exquisite taste."

  Jessica stared at her for a moment in arrested amazement; she had never considered that the one had anything to do with the other. Then she blinked, and reality once again reared its ugly head. "But that's entirely different."

  "No, it's not. You've created a comfortable environment to live in. This is simply a matter of expanding that comfort and style to include the things you wear, the makeup you choose, and the way you style your hair. You figure out both your good and your not so good points and shoot for ways to accentuate the first and disguise the second."

  Jessica's mind went utterly blank, leaving her incapable of coming up with even a hint of what her points were, good or bad.

  But Lily didn't get impatient with her the way Cassidy always did when she wasn't quick enough on the fashion uptake. She simply said, "Let me give you an example. I'm busty and way too hippy, but my waist is nice and little, so the dilemma is how to accentuate the waist without bringing attention to the hips. My compromise is no-fuss clothing. I stay away from busy patterns and ruffles and puffs and the like. I tend toward straight, long lines with accessories that hint at my curves. And I love heels, partly because I'm short and they make my legs look longer and give me more height, and partly just because they're so darn pretty." She smiled unrepentantly and shrugged.