by Alison Paige
Maizie didn’t care why Granny wanted to keep the cottage. She didn’t want to sell. Maizie wouldn’t allow it to be sold. Simple as that. It was the very least she could do for a woman who’d given her the last good years of her life.
“Maizie?”
“Yeah, Gran. I’m still here.”
“He said you’ve been late on your loan payments. Next week will make you a full month behind. Is that true?”
An uneasy weight sank to the bottom of her belly, sat there like bad seafood. How could Gran know her payment history? “Who told you that?”
“Is it true?”
Yeah, it was true. She’d make the payment, but there’d be a late fee, which would only make finances tighter. There was no way Gran could’ve known though. Someone must have told her. Someone not made of twisted memories and wishful thinking. Someone real.
“I’m making the payments. Everything is fine. Now who’ve you been talking to?”
“Riddly. It was Riddly. He said…” Her voice was soft, unsure. And when her words trailed off, Maizie knew she was realizing her mind must have been playing tricks.
“Gran, Dad’s dead. He couldn’t have told you what’s going on with my loan. Think. Who was it?”
Whoever was feeding her personal financial information about Maizie was obviously after the land. He’d use whatever means necessary, including making an old woman feel guilty for aging. But impersonating her dead son? That was beyond low.
“He said he was Riddly. I didn’t believe him at first. But I get confused sometimes. He looks like Riddly…a little. I just miss my boy.”
“I know. I miss Dad too. But it’s not him. Someone’s trying to trick you into selling the land and I think I know who it is. I’ll talk to Clare, at the front desk. We’ll figure it out.”
Thoughts of Gray Lupo pulled Maizie in two different directions. Her belly soured. Gawd, she’d always considered herself a pretty good judge of character. How could her instincts and libido be so off?
Maybe Gran meant someone else. Gray had seemed happy when Maizie told him she wouldn’t let anyone get their hands on Granny’s land. If she didn’t know better she’d swear he really cared about Granny.
Ugh. I’m grasping at straws.
“You’re sure you don’t need the money, Little Red?” Granny sounded suddenly lucid. “I promised the wolf, but he’d understand my granddaughter’s needs come first.”
“I’m sure. The wolf can relax. I won’t allow the land to be sold either.”
“Ah, what a strange twist of fate,” Granny said.
“What’s that?”
“All those years protecting the two of you from each other and here you are. Each protecting the other from the world.”
“Yeah. Twisted alright.” Maizie couldn’t help thinking her life would’ve been a lot easier if the big, bad wolf had stayed in the misty world of bedtime stories where he belonged.
***
“You have any idea who Mr. Gray Lupo is?” Cherri paused mid-sift to look at Maizie, half the tray of cream danishes speckled in powdered sugar.
Maizie shrugged. She glanced at Cherri then looked back to her apple pie crust, pinching perfect dents around the rim. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Bullshit. You’re telling me you didn’t google him?”
Maizie shrugged, the queen of indifference. Of course she’d googled him. But admitting that meant admitting she had a thing, a heavy-breathing, panty-creaming, forget-her-own-name thing, for the guy trying to con her sweet little Granny. She didn’t want to admit that. Not even to herself.
“Well, I googled him,” Cherri said. “And he is The Shit. I mean it. He’s The Man. The Big Guy. Mr. Monopoly. Boardwalk, Park Place, the man owns the whole damn board.”
“Impressive. I’m still not letting him in to see Granny anymore. I talked to Clare. It’s a done deal.”
“Clare? The toothpick at the front desk? I know kindergarten teachers tougher than her. You really think she can stop a man like Gray Lupo?”
“It’s a private facility. He’s not above the law.”
“Uh, hello?” Cherri pushed at her glasses with the back of her sugarcoated hand. “A guy with that kind of money and power? Yeah. He is.”
“He doesn’t intimidate me.”
“He should. He’s dated some of the most beautiful women in the world—movie stars, models, even a princess. Does that intimidate you?”
“No.” It’s just depressing.
“He was married once.”
“Really?” Now that was news to Maizie.
“She left him. Vanished.”
“It happens.”
“He can buy and sell Donald Trump. The man doesn’t own a pair of shoes, belt or briefcase that wasn’t once an actual living thing. When he eats Chinese food, he does it…in China.”
“I don’t care.”
“He doesn’t wash his underwear. He just buys new ones.”
“Cherri.”
“And they’re tailored.”
“Enough.” She couldn’t keep a straight face much longer.
“Fine. How about this one? He’s also your neighbor.”
“What?” Maizie snapped her gaze to Cherri, pie in one hand, oven door in the other.
“You really didn’t google him, did you? Can’t believe it.” Cherri turned and finished sifting powdered sugar over danishes.
“Okay, okay. I stopped reading after the princess thing. Happy? Now tell me about him being my neighbor.” Maizie shoved the pie in the oven and set the timer, then took the empty stool at Cherri’s prep-table.
“Well he’s not physically your neighbor, unless he lives somewhere on that Wild Game Preserve next to your grandmother’s land.”
“The preserve?”
“Yeah. He owns it.”
Maizie always figured the preserve was some government project. She’d never seen anything remotely exotic…except for the big silver wolf. She certainly hadn’t seen any signs of a house.
“He owns it?”
“Yeah.”
So why was he trying to get Granny to sell her land?
The cowbell over the front door clanked. “Hello?”
Maizie snapped straight. She knew that radio voice. “That’s him.”
“Him, who?” Cherri leaned back, trying to see through the doorway into the showroom.
Maizie scrambled out of her apron, tossing it over the stool. She twisted the hair at her temples around her fingers. Corkscrew curls bounced back, revitalized. She groped the swirl of hair at the crown of her head. Messy bun, still messy.
A smudge of flour on the hem of her tan sleeveless dress caught her notice and she hurried to brush it away before checking her dull reflection in one of the metal pots hanging over the table. Still redheaded. Still freckled. Nothing to be done about it.
Maizie took a breath and headed through the doorway. “Stay here.”
“Okay. But him who?” Cherri said after her.
Maizie came around the display cases. “Mr. Lupo. What can I do for you?”
He looked confidently casual in reddish-brown pants, a black jersey-knit T-shirt that hugged his chest, and a lighter brown plaid jacket, worn fashionably open. He even wore sneakers, leather lace-up track shoes, probably cost an easy hundred bucks.
Maizie thought about the underwear. Tailored? And then she thought about the package inside the underwear. All natural. Her cheeks flushed hot. Thanks a lot, Cherri. She tried to think of something else.
“Ms. Hood, you look…” He exhaled. “Lovely.” He said “lovely” like it was an understatement. Nicely done. She fought her smile while his gaze traveled down her body and back again. Not the slightest bit lecherous or ogling, but very male. A quick shudder raced across her shoulders.
“If this is about my grandmother and Green Acres there’s really nothing to discuss.”
Those pale blue eyes met hers, brows tight. “Sorry?”
“Oh.” Maybe he didn’t know about the no-admittance she’d set at Gree
n Acres. “Why are you here, Mr. Lupo?”
Judging by his tiny flinch, she must’ve sounded ruder than she’d intended. “It’s Gray. Please. Mr. Lupo sounds so… I’d be honored if you called me Gray.”
“Fine. Gray.” She waited for an answer although the way he looked at her, as though he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch her, it really didn’t seem so important why he was there. She was just glad he was.
No. He’s an ass.
He smiled, one of his lopsided almost-smiles that made her think he could read her mind. “Have lunch with me,” he said.
“Lunch?” Didn’t see that one coming.
“Yes.”
She’d thought he’d come to issue warnings, relay the dangers of defying a man of his considerable power and wealth. That, she could’ve handled. But this? “I can’t have lunch with you.”
“Why not? You haven’t eaten already, have you?”
“No.”
“You do eat, don’t you?”
Maizie scoffed. “Yes.” When I remember.
“Good. Then come with me.”
“It’s the middle of the day. I have a shop to run. Y’know, some of us still have to get our hands dirty in order to keep our business going. I can’t just—”
“I got it covered,” Cherri yelled from the back prep-room. “Go. Take the day off. Won’t even miss you here.”
Maizie could tell by the closeness of her voice that Cherri was leaning against the wall next to the doorway, listening. “She’s joking. I’m absolutely essential here. They can’t run the place—”
“Yes I can,” Cherri called. “Done it before. A bunch of times. Go. Have lunch. No reason to be intimidated.”
That’s it, first chance she got, she’d fire that neb-nose. And this time she’d mean it. Probably. Okay, probably not, but she’d make her think she did.
Maizie looked back to Gray in time to catch him rake one of his big guy hands through his hair. What a nice contrast, tan skin, parting through silky silver and black. The gesture hiked his jacket sleeve, showing off a muscled forearm brushed with dark hairs. So purely male.
She couldn’t help tracking his hand back to the front pocket of his pants, his thumb hooking at the corner just like the other. When he stopped moving, her gaze jumped to his.
He’d been watching her, watching him. That half grin tugging the corner of his mouth again. Maizie’s body warmed, a wash of heat rippling down to her core, readying her body for what it wanted, never mind her brain’s protests.
“Why?” she said.
His brows pinched, cocky grin fading. “Pardon?”
“Why do you want to have lunch with me?” He could date anyone. He’d dated everyone. Why her?
“I thought we could talk.”
Ah-ha! Talk. About Granny and her land, no doubt. She was right all along. Cut off from the old lady, he’d come to use those pretty eyes and that sexy voice on her.
Finally.
How many deals had he done this way? How many of those women he’d been photographed with had fallen prey to his charm and palpable sex appeal?
Would he jet her off to some exotic location? Ply her with expensive wines and three-hundred-dollar caviar? Would he buy her jewelry and a designer dress just to take her to a sold-out ballet or maybe an opera? Would he try to buy her help to turn her against Granny?
“Just talk, huh?” she asked. He was sexy as hell, but the whirlwind date wouldn’t make her forget the cruel tricks he’d played on Granny.
“Yes. Just talk. And eat.”
Gawd, it would be great to let him throw all his money around, flashing that sexy almost-there grin, thinking he was being sly, manipulating her. And then at the end of the day she’d tell him “bite me”, watch his jaw hit the floor. It’d serve’im right.
“Fine. Take me to lunch.”
Gray figured Maizie would be surprised when his driver turned onto the gravel road next to the Wild Game Preserve sign, but she looked almost mystified.
“Is there a private airstrip somewhere in the forest? Maybe a helipad?” She searched through the car window, scanning between the trees, squinting into the shadows. Her hands tensed around the pastry box on her lap, denting the edges.
“Uh, no. No airstrip. No helipad.” Jeezus, where’d she expect him to take her for lunch? He’d dated plenty of women who expected over-the-top outings, but he hadn’t pegged Maizie as the type. Being raised by Ester, he thought she’d be more down to earth, more…real.
Several minutes along the gravel road into the forest, the car came to a stop. Gray reached down and pulled a shoebox from under the driver’s seat.
He held it out to Maizie. “Here. You might want to put these on.”
She turned, her gaze dropping to the box. A strange grin curled her lips. “You bought me shoes, huh?”
“Actually, I—”
“What are they, Manolo Blahnik? Jimmy Choo? Prada?” She handed him the pastries and threw off the shoe lid as though she was exposing some guilty payoff.
“They’re Timberlands,” Gray said. “My niece’s boots. I wasn’t sure of your size, but you look about as small as Shelly. It’s kind of a hike. Not muddy, but not exactly a high-heeled-sandal trail.” He opened his door. “You wanted designer shoes?”
She paled, practically shrank back into her seat. “No. No, I just thought… Never mind. These are fine, perfect.”
Dave, the driver, had gotten them as close to the picnic site as he could. Still, the quarry lake was a good distance from the road. Gray hadn’t been there in years, but he’d had a strange dream the other night about Maizie and him at the lake. She’d come up out of the water—naked.
Gray shook the erotic memory from his brain. He wanted to keep a tight rein on everything today, his actions as well as his thoughts. He didn’t want to risk losing control like he had in his wolf form. Jeezus, she brought the animal out in him.
Carrying the pastry box for her, he heard Maizie’s muffled oath and glanced back in time to see her recover from a stumble over a tree root. He grabbed her hand without thinking. She flinched, but then held his hand tight. It felt good. He tried to ignore it.
Gray watched her step high over the jutting root, her shapely leg stretching the limits of her form-fitting dress.
The idea was to ingratiate himself with Maizie, get to know her, let her know him somewhat. Yeah, he’d use seduction enough to influence her. He’d use her already budding attraction to gain her loyalty. When Cadwick made his move he wanted Maizie to have every reason to refuse him.
Nothing more. No matter what Ester hoped, there’d be nothing real between him and Maizie. There couldn’t be. There was too much between them already. The fact she couldn’t remember didn’t change anything.
They stepped into the narrow clearing along the shoreline.
“Ohmygod.” Maizie exhaled the words. “The quarry.” She’d gone pale.
“You don’t like it?” He gestured to the low table set atop a large Oriental rug. Big colorful cushions lined two sides of the table while the sun sparked off several silver dish covers.
Maizie’s gaze skittered over the table, her lips parted. “No. It’s…it’s beautiful. Surprising. I never would’ve guessed. I…” She glanced in the opposite direction and Gray followed her gaze.
When he saw the huge flat rock tilted gently toward the water, his sudden hard-on made him light-headed for a second. The memory of what she’d done in his dream. Good God, he’d come just thinking about it. He turned away, scrambling to rein in his thoughts. But then her hand trembled in his, her palm moistened. She was flushed, her breathing shallow. She was as turned on as he was, just as quickly affected. Why?
“Should we eat?” She dropped his hand and headed for the table. “Can’t wait to see what’s under those covers.”
He followed, but his mind was a chaotic mess with a million thoughts, a thousand questions. Something was happening between them, something he couldn’t explain but he could feel, li
ke the forest around him. The pulse of life beating beneath the surface, touching the primal nature within him, he was connected to the forest and he was connected to Maizie.
His jaw stiffened. “No.” It’s not right.
“What?”
His gaze snapped to Maizie’s, her eyes questioning, a touch of hurt wrinkling the corners.
“We’re not eating here?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m sorry, I was… Excuse me. Please.” He gestured to the oversized purple cushion closest to them.
They toed off their boots and shoes, handing the pastry box back and forth, careful to step barefooted onto the rug.
Those greener than green eyes were staring at his feet, a look of utter female appreciation shading her face. “Nice feet.”
This was definitely a bad idea.
Gray ignored his semi-hard-on. He moved them to the table, guiding Maizie with his hand at the small of her back. She sat like a lady, knees together, legs curled to the side. The tight hug of her dress left her few options. She set the box between them on the table.
Annette had set the two entrées side by side. The other side of the table was filled with floral arrangements, a rather large bowl of fruit, and two flickering candelabras. With space limited and Maizie already seated, Gray had no choice but to take the cushion next to her.
After a second or two of fidgeting, they both accepted that her legs would press against his thigh. Gray did his best to ignore the sensation.
“So what’s under the covers?” she asked, suspicious. “Lobster? Truffles? Or no, I bet it’s steak tartare? Or maybe quail?”
Steak tartare? Rather than deny her bizarre guesses, Gray reached over and removed both covers at once. “Peanut butter sandwiches, chips, and a glass of milk. I was told it’s your favorite.”
She blinked, staring at the ordinary dish.
“You’re disappointed. I’m sorry. I thought—”
“No.” She grabbed his hand, smiled at him. “It’s perfect. You’re right. It is my favorite. But you…I’m sure you’d rather have, I don’t know, soft-shell crabs or something.”
Gray snorted, setting the covers off to the side. “No. Not a seafood lover. Besides, nothing’s better than peanut butter sandwiches for nerves.”