Taste for Trouble (Blake Brothers Trilogy)

by Sey, Susan

  His heart. She wanted his goddamn heart. The girl who believed love was nothing but a pretty excuse for being irrational wanted his love.

  She resisted the moan of distress that edged up her throat. Good lord, what was wrong with her? What was she thinking? She was going to take her eye off the ball she’d been chasing since high school because she was experiencing warm feelings toward a charming athlete?

  She gave herself a stern mental slap. Get it together, Bel. You’re so close. Just...focus, all right? Get it together and finish it out.

  She fixed her eyes on Kate’s and said, “We’re really pleased with our performance and hope you are, too.”

  “I am,” Kate said, reluctant approval curving her lips. “Surprisingly so. As I said, I didn’t expect this level of self-awareness from Mr. Blake, nor this show of flexibility from you. But I trust you’ll find both those qualities quite handy during this final challenge.”

  “Final challenge?” Bel lifted her brows in polite expectation though anxiety did a little dance inside her chest. “I thought we had two more tasks to go.”

  “Technically you do.” Kate folded her hands with satisfaction and Bel’s muscles tensed warily. James’ hand found her knee under the table again, gave it a warm, reassuring squeeze that, interestingly, dampened the flutter of nerves instead of causing them. She wondered vaguely how that was possible. “However, given the scope of the challenge I have in mind, I’m inclined to give you double credit for pulling it off. Plus you’ll likely need a full two weeks to prepare and execute.”

  “Yeah?” James kicked back, hooked an elbow over the back of his chair and gave Kate a slow, lazy smile. “So what is it? Are we parachuting into Iraq with fresh muffins for the troops? Baking bread with orphans? Producing Thanksgiving dinner over a barrel fire with some homeless guys?”

  “No,” Kate said, her smile cold and sharp. “You’ll be throwing a ball.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  James blinked at her. “We’re what?”

  “Throwing a ball.” Kate gave him that icy smile of hers and took a sip of coffee. “It’s a fancy party involving dancing.”

  “Thank you,” James said. “But I understood the word.”

  Beside him, Bel cleared her throat. “You want us to throw the Fox Hunt Ball.” It didn’t sound like a question.

  James frowned at her. “The what now?”

  Kate beamed at Bel. “Clever girl. Indeed I do.”

  “A little help?” James turned baffled eyes on Bel.

  “The Fox Hunt Ball,” Bel said slowly. “It’s a tradition in this part of Virginia—hunt season opens with a black tie ball.”

  “Hunt season?” James rolled the words around in his mouth. “As in red coats and panting dogs and horns and horses all pounding through the woods after some scrawny little fox?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great,” James said. “Good thing I left England.”

  “It’s an annual tradition dating back hundreds of years,” Kate said. “It’s the premier social event of the season in this part of the country and it raises a great deal of money for charity.”

  “Kate throws the ball at Hunt House,” Bel told him. “She’s been doing it for years.”

  “Which means that the bones of the event are already in place,” Kate said. “All you and James need to do is fill in the blanks.”

  “Which are?” James asked.

  “Well, the catering, of course. We’ve contracted with our usual company, but menus need to be finalized, servers instructed and trained, personal touches.” Kate waved a vague hand. “You know, details.”

  “I do know,” Bel said with a grimness that made James wonder if she’d actually been the one handling them in years past.

  “I’m sure Bel will see to them with her usual efficiency. You won’t need to worry about that piece of it.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” James said.

  “Then there’s usually some kind of act or entertainment. A raffle or a silent auction or, goodness, anything really.” Kate smiled serenely. “As long as it’s in good taste and valuable enough to inspire loosened purse strings.”

  “Uh huh.” James looked across the table at his brothers, then down the table at his agent who’d been absolutely and uncharacteristically silent all evening. All three of them regarded Kate with varying degrees of wariness. Yeah, James kind of got that vibe himself. “And who’s in charge of coming up with that bit?”

  Kate sparkled at him. “Why, you are.”

  “I am?”

  “Of course. And I’m sure you’ll do it marvelously. You’re quite a remarkable young man, James.”

  Will made an abrupt noise of disgust. He threw back the last of his wine and rose. “And that’s about all the James worship I can take for one evening. My stomach, you know. It’s sensitive. You’ll excuse me.” He shoved in his chair and stalked out of the room. James frowned after him. Will had always been prickly but this was getting uncomfortable. He glanced a question at Drew, who lifted his shoulders.

  “You’re a bit spoiled, perhaps,” Kate mused, unconcerned by Will’s sudden departure, “but that was to be expected, given how early and easily success has come to you.”

  “I don’t guess I ever thought of it as easy,” James said.

  Kate went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “The benefit being, I suppose, that you have time to grow out of it. Especially if you continue to force yourself into the occasional bout of introspection.”

  James glanced at Bel who studied the tablecloth with ferocious concentration. “Or hire somebody who forces me into it.”

  “Whatever works.” Kate patted his hand briskly. “That insight along with your athletic ability and your undeniable...” She squinted thoughtfully at him. “I suppose charm is the word I’m looking for.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” James said humbly.

  She gave him a sharp look. “Neither of which you earned, both of which you’ve been content to employ solely to indulge your and your brothers’ every whim.”

  James wiped the grin from his face and tried to look appropriately remorseful.

  “What I am providing you with, James, is the opportunity to take the gifts God gave you and for the first time put them to work for somebody other than yourself. I’m offering you the chance to be not just a decent man but a good human being. To have a positive impact on the world, to connect with real people in a meaningful and lasting way. I do hope you’ll take this seriously.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” James said. He glanced at Bel, her gorgeous mouth pursed into a worried little knot, the light from the chandelier playing on her bent, shiny head. The urge to cup his palm around the back of that slender neck, to bring her lips to his, to soothe away that stiff unhappiness was nearly overwhelming. “I plan to.”

  After dinner, Bob saw Kate back to Hunt House like the gentleman he was. He walked beside her along the crushed shell path that edged the pond while the moonlight limned her pale hair. They climbed the gentle rise toward Hunt House, and that moonlight just kept sliding down. It touched her sharp cheekbones, the straight length of her nose, the delicate curve of her lips.

  “You’re perfect,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” She turned to him, one brow arched in pleased surprise.

  “You are,” he said. “In the moonlight. That face of yours. It’s like you were made by a master craftsman.”

  “Why, Bob. That’s lovely.”

  He shook his head and continued walking. “Good thing, too. You’re no spring chicken, but the camera still loves you.”

  She laughed and fell in beside him. “And here I thought you were getting sentimental in your old age.”

  He shrugged. “I am. Didn’t I just tell you you were beautiful?”

  “You did.”

  “There you go, then.”

  They walked on in silence, the night air moving gently in the leaves overhead. Kate stopped at the French doors that opened from her office into the back yard. Sh
e cocked a brow, her lips curved with a faint wickedness.

  “Should I invite you in?”

  Bob shook his head slowly. “You know where I stand on that.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She rolled her eyes. “Not this again.”

  “Yep. Just old fashioned, I guess.”

  “You,” Kate said, wrapping her hands in his lapels and pulling him in for a slow, lingering kiss, “are the furthest thing from old fashioned that’s ever made a mess of my bed.”

  Bob swallowed hard and gathered up the scattered ashes of his resolve. God, that mouth of hers. “I’m getting too old for sex without commitment, Kate.”

  “I gave you a commitment,” she said. “When I retire, we’ll be together.”

  “Invite me in again when you retire, then. I’ll say yes. Until then?” Bob stepped back from her greedy hands. “I can wait.”

  She followed him, slid one warm hand up the plane of his chest, her pout heart-stoppingly close to his mouth. “What if I can’t?”

  He took her hand off his chest, held it in his. It felt nice there. Not as nice as it had on his chest, but still good. Like he was courting her. Because, damn it, he was. Even if it killed him.

  “So,” he said brightly, “Bel and James seem to be making good progress. It was a rocky start but it looks like they’re going to make it after all.”

  She frowned. “Well, I certainly hope so.” But Bob wondered. Was that a trace of reluctance under her customary briskness?

  “You have doubts?”

  “Well, no. Of course not.” She fluttered an impatient hand. “When Bel finishes up this last task to my satisfaction I can retire and we can be together. I want her to succeed more than anybody. You know that.”

  Bob gave her a shrewd look. “Do I? You’ve been testing her mettle for three years now and don’t look any closer to retirement to me. Anybody else would have told you to stuff it by now.”

  She drew herself up. “Are we still talking about Bel?” she asked stiffly. “Or has this conversation taken an ugly and unnecessary turn?”

  “But Bel,” Bob went on patiently as if Kate hadn’t spoken, “she wants this. She wants it more than anything. It’s all she’s ever known how to want as far as I can tell. You’ve been hinting at an imminent retirement for three seasons now. It’s time, Kate. For you to pull it away now?” Bob spread his hands. “It’s approaching cruel.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “It’s not up to me,” she said. “She either earns it or she doesn’t.”

  Bob gave her an intimate smile. “Then let’s hope she does.”

  “Let’s do,” Kate said. Her answering smile was warm but not warm enough to hide something fierce and hunted in her eyes. Bob recognized his cue to back up and shut up.

  “Good night, Kate.” He forced himself to stroll off into the night as if he had all the time in the world to wait. As if it didn’t kill him to waste even one night they could spend together.

  Patience, he told himself. If there was one thing he knew it was that no good ever came of rushing her. Woe to the guy who backed Kate into a corner.

  He just prayed to God she came around soon. He didn’t know how much more time he could afford to give her.

  Bright and early the following morning, Bel hung a cork board the approximate size of a compact car on the kitchen wall. Then she pulled out a well-thumbed stack of recipe cards and got down to the business of planning a menu that would send every man, woman and child in attendance at this year’s Fox Hunt Ball into raptures of culinary delight.

  Several hours later, her corkboard still largely empty, she slapped her hands down on the countertop and shot to her feet with a muffled noise of frustration.

  Bel believed with an almost religious fervor in the power of persistence. But even she had to acknowledge that sometimes, particularly when it came to food, persistence wasn’t enough.

  Sometimes it took magic.

  Just admitting that offended every principle around which Bel had organized her life, but denying it did no good. The sort of home-run Bel was looking to hit was going to take more than rigorous practice and attention to detail. It was going to take magic. Inspiration. A stroke of genius.

  None of which could be forced. Magic had to be invited. Nurtured. Courted. Which ordinarily she wouldn’t mind. But with only the two measly weeks Kate had allowed them to pull together the state’s most lavish event of the year, Bel didn’t have that kind of time.

  What she needed was a trip to the farmers’ market. A stroll down a leafy aisle, the air rich with the scent of soil and what came out of it. She needed to fill her hands with round, lush, late-season tomatoes, to pull the tangy scent of them deep into her lungs. She needed a bag of onions with the dirt still clinging to them, and maybe a curvy, flirty little squash. A pattypan or something equally adorable.

  She needed inspiration.

  But she’d settle for James getting his lazy self out of bed so they could at least put together a game plan. Maybe if she knew what direction he was going with the program, the magic would get on board.

  She glanced at her watch. Where on earth was he? He wasn’t an early riser by any stretch of the imagination, but in general he could be counted on to have rolled into the kitchen by noon.

  She could go upstairs and wake him. An unwelcome spark shivered through her at the image that flashed into her head—James tangled up in warm sheets, bare-chested and sleep-rumpled, his beautiful mouth soft and inviting.

  She sat down at the stool in front of her stacks of rejected recipes with a deliberate calm. She would rather continue to unsuccessfully force the magic, she told herself firmly, than successfully wake James. And if a tiny, rebellious piece of her soul howled a protest, she didn’t flinch. She simply channeled the energy into righteous indignation.

  Because it wasn’t right that she should sit down here and slave away over work they should both be doing. It wasn’t right for her to shoulder the entire burden of worry while he snored away like a Roman soldier after an orgy. It wasn’t right that he should be able to sleep at all while she scrambled fruitlessly around for a scrap of magic, of all things. Magic was his damn department, and if he couldn’t be bothered to turn up by noon—

  “Hey, Bel.” James ambled into the kitchen. He plopped down on the stool next to hers and gave her a hopeful look. “There wouldn’t happen to be any coffee handy, would there?”

  “There was three hours ago,” she said coolly, sifting through a pile of recipes she’d rejected four times already. “I threw it out.”

  “Aww.” His face fell. “Before you got here, we used to just scrape the scum off the top and throw it in the microwave.”

  “Forgive me for having standards.” She slapped down the stack of cards and lifted another.

  “I have standards,” he said. “It’s just that they mostly pertain to the necessity of caffeine in the a.m.”

  “Then you ought to get up before noon,” she snapped.

  He peered at her from under a worn Manchester United ball cap. “Something, ah, wrong?”

  “Certainly not.” She tossed down that stack, offended that it was still full of non-starters, and snatched up another. “What makes you ask?”

  He lifted his shoulders in a wary shrug. “You seem a little...testy.”

  “Testy?” She rounded her eyes in a parody of offended shock. “Why on earth would I be testy? Just because we have two short weeks to pull together the most complex event I’ve ever worked on, let alone run, and my partner—” Here she paused to deliver a killing glance. “—when he deigns to turn up at all, does nothing but complain? What kind of miserable shrew would get testy over something like that?”

  “I have no idea,” he said slowly. “Maybe you could, I don’t know, enlighten me?”

  She slapped her hands down on the table. “For goodness’ sake, James! What do you expect? A parade for dragging yourself out of bed? I’ve been down here for hours, working myself into a frenzy trying to make this stu
pid menu work, and it won’t and I’m frustrated and worried and angry and you’re not here. I need help and you’re not here.”

  She shot to her feet and walked a few paces away, horrified at the raw hurt in her voice. God. No wonder he stayed away from her. It was bad enough that she felt crazy. Did she really have to act crazy, too?

  “Hey.” He spoke softly, his voice shockingly near her ear. Why didn’t she ever hear this guy move? “I’m here now, okay?” His hands came to rest on her shoulders, warm and strong and comforting. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to lean back into the solid heat of his body and let somebody else do the worrying for a minute or two.

  “I could have used you a little earlier,” she said instead.

  “Ah, Bel.” He pulled her back into his arms. She closed her eyes against the treacherous wave of contentment that slid through her, the same way she ignored the shimmer of awareness at the way their bodies fit. “You’ve really had a morning, haven’t you?”

  The hot prickle of tears in the back of her throat caught her off-guard and she tossed off a bad-tempered shrug. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple, turned her to face him and held her shoulders in those big, capable hands. He bent a little, to look at her eye-to-eye.

  “I didn’t abandon you, Bel,” he said. “I know I haven’t been the best partner to you these past weeks, but I told Kate last night I was taking this seriously and I am. Now that’s for me, sure. I’d like to get my career back one of these days, too. But it’s also for you.”

  “For me?” She blinked at him, struggling to get past the sight of those gorgeous, earnest eyes and that wicked mouth so close to hers.

  “For you.” He smiled at her and Bel’s system took another hit. A hard one. She wanted to lean forward and press her mouth to his, to be the one to close the distance between them herself for once, but he suddenly dropped his hands and stepped back. Those lips curved into a smile, but it was a polite, arm’s-length parody of the real deal. “You’ve given this thing—and, by extension, me—all you’ve got, Bel. I don’t think you know how to operate any other way. It’s pretty amazing, and kind of humbling, to tell you the truth. You deserve a better partner. You’ve earned it.”