by Adrianne Lee
On the other hand, her computer skills could fill the hourglass hanging between her breasts. Oh, she could operate e-mail and use word processing and maneuver the Internet enough to do basic searches, even order merchandise. But maybe there was some trick to digging up the kind of information she sought. Chad. She snapped her fingers. The youngest Kingston sibling was also the family computer guru. If anyone could help, he could. She sent him an e-mail outlining what she wanted and asking how to go about searching for it.
He hadn’t gotten back to her by the time she headed out for her appointment with the caterer, and Livia felt more frustrated than she’d thought possible. Two days had passed—soon it would be three—and she still had no idea who was after Mark Everett or why. She considered point blank asking him, but how could she tell him he was going to die in twenty-six days? Almost twenty-five? And even if she found the courage to tell him, was he likely to believe her? Or likely to think she should be avoided and insist on dealing with Sookie or Bridget to fulfill the contract?
No. She had to get closer to him. Had to figure out why someone would want to shoot him. It was her only chance to prevent her own death. And, once she knew why and who, she would warn him. He might still decide not to believe her, she knew, but at least then his fate would no longer be in her hands.
Her head was starting to ache by the time she reached the residential area of old town Issaquah that had been rezoned in recent years for business usage. On either side of this street, pre-World War II homes nestled between elderly trees. Cupid’s Catering occupied a corner lot at the end of the third block. The brilliant porch light showed that the house had been painted a tasteful cream with dark teal trim, the exact shade of teal she’d decided on for her wedding.
Talk about coincidences.
She parked in front of the three-story structure and climbed the eight steps to the wide covered porch. A bristled Welcome mat with Cupid’s Catering sprayed in teal letters graced the spot beneath the teal door, and a sign beside the doorbell told prospective customers that this business took Appointments Only. The night had turned chilly. She hugged the collar of her coat close to her neck, gathered a steadying breath and knocked.
Mark answered the door. His strong thighs were poured into faded jeans, his muscled arms darkly tanned against a tight white T-shirt, and his whip-thin waist lashed by a teal apron. She’d bet his body fat wasn’t over four percent.
Mark studied her face. “Is the boy all right?”
“Not even going to say hello first?” Though she said this in a flippant way, his concern for Josh touched her, stripping away any lingering ire she held toward him for scaring them this afternoon. “He’s fine. Really.”
Looking relieved, Mark moved aside and she stepped into the foyer. The floor was oak planking, the room wide enough to hold an antique hall tree with mirror and coat hooks, a parson’s table spread with business cards, brochures, guest book, and a teal screen that separated this area from the next room. Yesterday, she had never given the color teal a second thought, now it seemed to be everywhere she looked. It was starting to spook her.
She took a sharp breath, inhaling a fragrant fog of delicious odors that made her mouth water, her empty stomach rumble. She hadn’t eaten in anticipation of tonight’s tasting marathon. She hugged a tablet she’d brought for note-taking, felt a bit light-headed, and increased her grip on the pad as if it were going to keep her on her feet.
“May I take your coat?” he asked.
“Uh, yes.” She unzipped the jacket, her back to him as he helped lift it from her shoulders. His breath whispered against her ear, bringing a hint of vanilla into air already rife with ambrosial aromas. Her mouth watered, and she spun to face him. She wore gray wool slacks and a baby-pink angora sweater that she’d spent way too long choosing for a visit to a caterer. His hot golden eyes glowed with approval, and she tugged at the hem of the sweater that barely covered her navel, resisting the impulse to touch her hair.
Of course she was nervous. Not because he made her nervous, or even self-conscious, but because she planned to do some covert snooping tonight, if the opportunity arose. The one thing she had learned on her Internet search was that his business address was also his home address. He lived in this wonderful old house with too many touches of teal.
“It’s warmer in here.” Mark ducked around the screen. “I’ve got a fire going.”
She followed, her nerves starting to loosen her tongue. “Bridget was going to come with me tonight. Talk to you about the cake. But she called at the last minute to beg off. The coffeemaker at the Bread and Brew is on the fritz and if she doesn’t get it fixed tonight she’ll lose a whole morning’s worth of business tomorrow.” She’d tried enlisting her mom as a last-minute replacement, but she was at bingo. And so, against her best attempts to prevent it, Fate had brought her here to face this man alone.
Perhaps that was better.
Being alone with Mark Everett would give her the chance to observe him, to notice that which she might not have if her sister or mother had come with her. He was a contradiction in many ways. Rugged, dangerous in appearance, yet sweet-smelling and clean, concerned about a child as many men might not be. She suspected he was softer on the inside than he appeared or than he usually showed the world.
Why would anyone want to kill him?
He turned suddenly, and she almost ran into him, getting another whiff of his tantalizing breath. She had to admit it was preferable to the biting spray Reese used. Her gaze lifted to Mark’s intriguing mouth, the upper lip sculpted as if from stone by the hand of a master, the lower lip equally well defined. Would he taste as good as he smelled?
The urge to find out burned a hot streak right from her belly into her cheeks. She went tense, her hands fisting, her nails biting into her palms. She hadn’t come here to taste this man, but his wares.
“I’ll give Bridget a call and set up another time to meet with her, unless…” He shoved a scarred hand through his short hair. “Are you particularly concerned about the cake?”
About the cake. About my wayward urges. Yes, concerned. Confused. More than you will ever know. “Uh, no, not really.”
“Because if you are, I’ve got all kinds of suggestions that have been very popular.”
“No. I’d rather you and Bridget…” She trailed off as her gaze took in the long room that appeared both functional and cozy. Two Victorian love seats faced one another in front of a Victorian-style fireplace full of blazing logs. A work center with computer and file cabinet hugged the bay window to the front of the house, and the other end of the room that might once have been the dining room held a conference table. The only food in sight popped at her from posters framed on the walls above waist-high, built-in bookshelves.
She guessed the swinging door between the bookshelves led to the kitchen area. Though she already knew the answer, she asked, “Do you live here?”
“Upstairs. We use the lower level for storage.”
“We?”
“My partners, Candee Chen and Nanette White.”
“Do they live here, too?”
“No.” He frowned at her, curiosity warming his eyes. “Why?”
Her stomach growled loud enough to deter his attention. Livia blushed and laughed self-consciously. “So, when do we start sampling food?”
His eyebrows danced. “I wasn’t aware you expected me to provide samples tonight.”
She sniffed and caught the rich aromas still prevalent in the air. “Well, something smells…wonderful.”
“Ah, that’s part of the chamber of commerce luncheon for tomorrow.”
“You prepare it this far ahead?”
“Some dishes, yes.” He glanced toward the kitchen and she heard a soft murmur of voices, punctuated by something that sounded like the bump of a lid against a pan. She’d expected they’d be alone, but maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe if he were distracted by others, it would afford her the opportunity to snoop. He followed the direction of
her gaze. “If you’re hungry, I’m sure I can find some—”
“No, no. I’m fine. Full.” She clutched the tablet to her stomach, hoping it wouldn’t decide to call her a liar at that moment. “But if we aren’t going to sample food tonight, then what are we doing?”
“There’s a lot of paperwork to do before we get to the tasting stage.”
“Paperwork? What kind of paperwork?” Suspicion lifted her eyebrows. “More contracts?”
He shook his head and suppressed a smirk. “You haven’t done this before, have you?”
“Well, of course not. One marriage is quite enough, don’t you think?”
The smirk dropped from his face and his gaze grew distant, sad, angry. He pressed his fists against each other as though pressing emotions back into some internal hiding place, and when he looked at her again, his expression was unreadable. “Worked with a caterer, I meant.”
“Oh.” She touched her hair, wondering at his secret pain, wondering if it had anything to do with someone wanting him dead. “No, I haven’t.”
“Please, sit down.” He motioned her toward the conference table where she spotted a legal pad and several three-ring binders with different labels like Wine, Hot Hors d’ oeuvres, Cold Hors d’oeuvres, First Course, Second Course, Third Course, Desserts, Wedding Cakes. “There are a lot of decisions to make.”
She eyed the binders with a silent moan. She felt her head spin.
He said, “I’ll need to know what budget we’re working within, what wines you’d like served, which hors d’oeuvres, whether you’re having a buffet or sit-down meal. The usual.” He grinned, but she wasn’t amused. In fact, she felt downright dizzy. He seemed to notice. “You don’t look too well. Would you rather come back tomorrow?”
“No.” They didn’t have enough tomorrows to put off even one evening. She shook her head adamantly, and her balance went south. She felt herself falling like a tree in a forest, but couldn’t stop from crashing right into his chest.
His big arms came around her quick and strong, yet so tender she didn’t feel trapped, just supported, protected, wrapped in a spice-scented blanket—safe for the first time since she’d realized her nightmare hadn’t been a bad dream. How was that possible? How could being in the arms of the man whose life she would trade for her own make her feel such a sense of security?
MARK HADN’T HELD a woman since… His throat clogged at the painful memory that came rushing into his mind. He shoved it away, wishing he could shove away the warm, tender, sexy-smelling woman pressing his chest. Another time, another place, he might have relished embracing Reese Rayburn’s fiancée, but right now, he just felt sorry for her, and he hated that. He didn’t want to like her, to be grateful to her, to feel anything for this woman. Not even pity.
She was just a means to an end.
If he lost sight of that, he’d lose the one thing that mattered to him more than his own life. Why couldn’t she have been the brainless bimbo he’d assumed Reese was marrying—instead of a drop-dead knockout with a scrumptious body, the face of an angel and the ferocity of a mother hen guarding her frightened chick?
His hand hit the bare skin at her back in that gap between her sweater and the waistband of her slacks. She didn’t even flinch, but he did. Heat sizzled through his fingertips, raced up his arms, through his system, and into the core of him. Need, sharp and fierce, tugged at his groin.
Whoa, boy. Touching this little hottie is as dangerous as grabbing a sizzling broiler pan without oven mitts.
He led her to the conference table, sat her down, promised to be right back, then ducked into the kitchen. Nanette and Candee had gone, the food for the chamber luncheon put away, the preparations for the morning’s dishes readied. He glanced at the fresh lemon twists he’d made earlier, then decided against serving pastry. Livia Kingston didn’t seem the kind of woman who would appreciate being plied with high fats. He quickly put together a tray of fresh fruit, cheese and a pot of herbal tea.
She seemed to have recovered somewhat and was flipping through one of the three-ring binders. She gazed up and he read confusion in her wide aqua eyes. “I had no idea there were so many choices.”
“Look, have some tea and something to eat first, okay? I’m guessing your blood sugar dropped off the charts.”
She gave him a sheepish grin. “I confess. I didn’t eat. I thought—well, you know what I thought.”
She put a wedge of cheddar on a slice of apple and took a bite, closing her eyes, sighing noisily as though her teeth sank into nirvana. The sound, like a raw sensual moan, stroked Mark’s nerves, his senses, deepened his attraction to this woman who, in so many ways, was off-limits.
And yet, every time he looked at her, he felt some weird connection, not just a male/female lure that would be natural given that he hadn’t been with a woman for way too long, given that she was head-turning tasty. This felt as if he knew her on some spiritual level—which made no sense whatsoever. He’d given up believing in spiritual anything two years ago.
But whatever the lure, he couldn’t deny he felt something for this woman, something more than his body’s response to her, though that was potent enough.
He struggled against the need tightening his jeans and poured steaming tea into a mug. The tip of her pink tongue flicked out to gather in a shred of cheese from her lush bottom lip, and his control slipped again, his need building, increasing his discomfort, his chagrin.
He swore to himself, then gulped hot tea, the result exactly as expected. Pain ripped his concentration to his burned mouth, as effective an antidote as a cold shower on his engorged lust.
Until she reached out and touched him. “Are you okay?”
Hell, no, he wasn’t okay. He stared at her delicate smooth-skinned hand laid on his large scarred one, and an eerie sensation swept over him, shivering up his arm and straight into his heart. He lifted his gaze to hers and saw in the depths of those enchanting aqua orbs that she felt it, too, a pre-knowledge of some sort. Nanette would probably say he’d known her in another life, but Mark didn’t believe in that reincarnation crap. A shudder rattled through him, through the very depths of him, clear into his soul.
What the hell was this…this strange sense that Livia Kingston and he were somehow bonded beyond his catering her wedding for his own purposes? Beyond her caring for his son, Josh?
Chapter Five
SNEAKY PIE
Ingredients: 1 Cup Flattery
2 Cups Concession
10 Sticky Fingers
Lots of Crust
He senses it. Our connection. Livia saw it in Mark Everett’s golden gaze as it locked on her with a beam as bright and delving as a police searchlight, perception dawning, riveting her to her chair, rattling her to her toes. Not the how of it, nor the why, nor the what. Just the essence of it. The fact of it.
He straightened in his chair, his frown deepening, his eyes narrowing on her as though he couldn’t really believe it and sought her confirmation. Livia wanted to deny it, wanted to look away, but it was as if he held her face cupped in both hands.
She lifted her chin, swallowed against the knot forming in her throat. She wasn’t about to enlighten him. Not until she had more information on him. On who was after him. And she was no closer to learning that than she had been two days ago. She had to get into his private area of the house. Somehow.
Seeking a distraction from his intense stare, she blurted, “Sookie Rayburn tells me your pastries are—” Oh, God, why had she said that? Heat soared into her cheeks as the full impact of Sookie’s comments roared through her brain “—are…are to die for.”
He lifted one eyebrow, obviously aware she was trying to divert his attention, but flattered nonetheless. “Would you like to taste my pastries…?”
“No!” Her face grew hotter. She snatched another slice of apple and cheese. “This is…is plenty—”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer…fresh lemon twists?”
“No, no, no thank you.” She b
it into the apple and cheese, speaking, chewing, pointing at the three-ring binders. “Maybe we should start on those decisions.”
“Yeah, we’d better.” He pulled the legal pad close and penned “Rayburn/Kingston Wedding” across the top. “What budget will we be working with?”
Livia washed the food down with a gulp of herbal tea. She’d divided the total of her savings account into categories, setting so much aside for each of the wedding expenses. She told him the amount reserved for the alcohol. “I’m paying for as much of this as I can afford on my own. My parents offered, but they’re buying my dress and that’s a big enough hit for them to take. Since the Rayburns expect a more upscale affair than the Kingston clan usually puts on, they are taking up the slack. But I don’t want to go wild on costs.”
Hearing herself prattling, she realized she was telling the man more than he needed to know and stopped short at adding that in her family whenever there was a big ceremonial get-together, all the food was prepared and served by relatives, none of whom were caterers or professional chefs.
Mark wrote the amount on his tablet.
“Oh,” she said, pointing at what he’d written. “Reese is providing all the food at his cost. He says this amount will actually buy about double what it would normally cost anyone else.” She stopped herself again. Why hadn’t she told him that in the first place, instead of running off at the mouth? She gnawed her lower lip. “Will it be enough for about two hundred guests and a sit-down dinner?”
Mark drew a circle around the number he’d written and added the note that Rayburn was providing the food at cost. Like the man, his penmanship was bold and all but unreadable. He glanced at her. “It should be more than adequate, unless you decide to splurge on Beluga caviar or…Dom Pérignon.”
His voice vibrated as he spoke, the tone striking a chord in her, dragging a shiver along her spine, a warm hum along her nerve endings. The sensation stretched into several weighted seconds as she tried puzzling her reaction to this man who was not only a mystery but a danger to her. Then, Livia realized she no longer heard noises or voices in the kitchen. She was alone with Mark Everett. Her palms dampened. Her heart raced. Her stomach pinched.