Revenge Best Served Hot Page 6

  “So do I.” He detected pride again in her tone. “Dried spices have their place in recipes, but there’s nothing like a sprinkling of fresh flat-leaf parsley or sweet basil to give a finished dish an added punch of flavor.”

  “You sound like my sister Jenna.” The comment slipped out before he could swallow it. He’d made a decision before the takeover to keep his private life private. None of the business reporters who’d contacted him to discuss the deal had any inkling of his personal history with Douglass, since his last name was different from that of his mom and stepdad. That was the way Brody intended to keep it.

  “You mentioned sisters earlier. How many do you have?” Kate asked.

  “Two,” Brody replied, but didn’t elaborate.

  He found it too easy to get lost in conversation with this woman. Too easy to forget who she really was. What she might be up to. Kate was no mere attractive female. She was no mere employee. Brody would do well to remember that the woman riding shotgun in his SUV was the daughter of the man whose drive for profits had left him light on morals.

  How far from the tree had the apple fallen?

  For the remainder of their drive, Brody offered only nods and one-word answers in response to Kate’s attempts to make conversation. He knew roughly where she lived thanks to her personnel file, but once they reached her suburban neighborhood, he was forced to ask directions. She guided him down a couple of tree-lined streets before he finally pulled into the driveway of a unexpectedly modest and inviting Craftsman-style home with a wide porch set off by square pillars. Beside him in the SUV, he heard Kate sigh with what he assumed was relief. It had been a long day.

  “Thanks again for the ride,” she told him politely as she got out.

  He expected that would be the end of it, but she hesitated before closing the door, and then surprised him by leaning back inside.

  “Would you like to come in for a glass of wine? I don’t know about you, but after the day I’ve had…” She smiled wryly and left it at that.

  The choice was his, and it should have been an easy one to make. Brody’s sisters were at home. His dinner was being prepared. He was tired and eager to shed more than his tie. But he switched off the ignition and gave a slow nod of agreement. As he followed her up the brick-paved path to the front porch, he assured himself it was only curiosity that had prompted him to accept her invitation.

  What in the hell is she up to?

  The inside of her home was as unpretentious as its exterior and larger than he’d expected it to be. The modest foyer opened into a spacious living area that boasted a pair of club chairs and a comfortable-looking sectional. An assortment of colorful and quirkily patterned throw pillows broke up its sedate gray upholstery. Beyond the sectional, the dining room and kitchen were visible. Walls had been removed to allow for the open concept that was so popular in newer homes. And he was fairly certain the stairs that led to the second floor had been relocated to the east wall to allow better flow. But whoever had redesigned the floor plan had been careful to maintain some of the home’s original features, such as the crown moldings, tall baseboards, and built-in shelving that bracketed the fireplace.

  The woodwork was now painted a crisp white, which stood out in contrast to the dark wood floors, and the fireplace surround had been refaced in glass mosaic tile. In addition to books and bric-a-brac, the built-ins housed an impressive array of electronics. But even with the updated layout, high-end finishes, and well-appointed furnishings, the home still managed to retain its turn-of-the-last-century charm.

  Unpretentious. Comfortable. Welcoming. Homey. It was all those things. So different from the pictures he’d seen of her father’s conspicuous lakefront mansion. A far cry as well from the sprawling ranch Brody had built in a gated community not long after his first successful business venture—the takeover and resale of a midsize auto parts supplier—had netted him nearly two million dollars. This house reminded him of the home he’d grown up in, and for one aching second, he allowed himself to miss it and all that it had represented.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  Kate stood just inside the living room. She smiled somewhat uncertainly, managing to look as welcoming and comfortable as her surroundings, especially now that she’d kicked off her high heels. Without them, the top of her head was barely level with his chin. His gaze trailed down her legs to a pair of delicate feet whose toes were tipped in five-alarm-fire red. He felt his skin heat. Nostalgic no longer described his mood.

  “No,” he lied. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, because you’re frowning…or you were.”

  Oh, he could imagine how he looked now. Turned on. Interested. Ready to go a couple of rounds. He glanced back at the door. The late-afternoon sun streamed through the six small square windows at the top, but the day was winding down. The smart thing would be to leave. Now that he had hired her, he would have enough time to figure out her motives.

  He jiggled the car keys in his hand before dropping them in his pants pocket. “You said something about wine.”

  “I did.” She tipped her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Right this way.”

  He texted Jenna about his delay, tucking away a grin at the emoticon that accompanied her reply when he told her he’d stopped for a drink with a colleague. As he settled on one of the stools along a large granite-topped island, he decided Kate hadn’t been exaggerating about liking to cook. Not only were the appliances state-of-the-art, they showed definite signs of use. Oh, they were tidy enough. No splattered grease or burned-on food marred the stainless steel finish of the impressive six-burner gas stovetop. But it wasn’t brand spanking new. Nor were the pots and pans that hung from a rack over the island intended as a mere decoration.

  He caught a streak of black from the corner of his eye and turned in time to see a cat jump down from the top of the refrigerator.

  “Lazzy, you know you don’t belong up there,” Kate admonished the feline. To Brody, she said, “You’re not allergic, are you?”

  “To cats? No. Although I’m more of a dog person.”

  “So am I,” she agreed on a laugh. “Or I thought I’d be.”

  He pointed out the obvious. “But you own a cat.”

  “Oh, I don’t own Lazzy. He sort of came with the house. The people who used to live here left him locked in the laundry room in the basement. He was half starved by the time I moved in. Nothing but ribs and mangy fur, poor thing.” She shook her head. “I took him to a vet, who said I probably should have him put down.”

  “But you disagreed.”

  She shrugged. “He was starved, for food and attention. I made sure he got plenty of both.” As if on cue, the cat curled around Kate’s legs, arching its back and rubbing against her shapely calves. Lucky cat. She was saying, “I named him Lazarus, since he defied death and all. Lazzy for short.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Three years this fall.” She shook her head, bemused. “One of the things I liked best about this house when I came with the real estate agent was its big, fenced-in yard. I thought it would be perfect for a dog. And I’ve always wanted a dog. Not a small purse dog, either.” She shook a finger at him. “I know that’s what you were thinking.”

  “Maybe,” he allowed. “So, if not an ankle biter, then what?”

  “A golden retriever or maybe a yellow lab.”

  Big and messy, but definitely loyal and lovable, he thought. He’d had such a dog growing up. These days his schedule was too busy for pets.

  “After the cat was on the mend, why didn’t you just turn it over to the pound?” That was what most people, Brody included, would have done with a stray.

  She leaned down to stroke the ink-colored fur along Lazzy’s spine. “I guess I figured with everything he’d been through, it wasn’t fair to evict him. He deserved a chance.”

  Chances. They seemed to be a recurring theme where this woman was concerned.

  Kate went on. “Besides, he’s
not any trouble, even though he is supposed to stay off the counters and the top of the fridge.”

  She shook a finger at the cat. It issued a plaintive meow and then, with its tail held high, sauntered from the room.

  “Not very social, is he?” Brody commented.

  “Actually, by cat standards, I think he is.” She brushed her hands together before settling them on her hips. “So, which would you prefer? Red or white?”

  “What were you planning to have?”

  “White. Specifically a nice chardonnay that I picked up at the market after sampling it at a friend’s party last week.”

  “Do you mean the congressman’s yacht christening? I saw the pictures in the news. Nice dress.”

  White, off the shoulder, fitted through the body before flaring out around her knees. She’d worn her hair swept up in some intricate fashion that not even gusts of wind had managed to undo.

  “Thanks. I’ll tell my stepmother you approved. She picked it up for me during a fashion show in Milan. Eliza loves going to those things,” Kate said easily, then switched back to their earlier topic. “I also have a really good cab if you’d prefer red. I’m happy to uncork a bottle of both.”

  “Chardonnay. We’ll save the cab for another time.” He made the statement to be provoking. She didn’t disappoint.

  “To celebrate the end of my probationary period, perhaps?”

  His laughter rumbled out, echoing in her orderly kitchen. “You have no shortage of ego.”

  “I could say the same thing about you.”

  “True.”

  Their gazes held in challenge, although something more disturbing bubbled just below the surface. Kate looked away first. While she pulled a bottle of the chilled wine from the cooler, he continued his discreet inspection of her home in the hope of collecting his wayward thoughts. What appeared to be a commercial-grade coffeemaker was positioned next to the sink. The gleaming chrome behemoth even had an attachment to steam milk. Some local coffee shops weren’t as well equipped.

  “Were you a barista in a former life?” At her questioning glance, he nodded to the hulking appliance.

  “No. I just like good coffee.”

  “And you can’t get that from a regular pot or the umpteen cafés located between here and the office?”

  “It’s not the same. Besides, I hate lines, and I hate having to wait for my morning jolt of caffeine.”

  She had a point. Next his gaze wandered to a trio of terra-cotta pots that were lined up on the sill of the window over the sink. He recognized the flat-leaf parsley and sweet basil she’d mentioned during their drive. The third might have been rosemary, although he was scarcely an expert. He had a hard time picturing Kate—either the Chicago socialite or the business professional—puttering in a kitchen, although he supposed that was exactly what she was doing at the moment. Puttering. In a kitchen. And she was doing it barefoot, no less.

  She’d already bent to retrieve the chilled chardonnay from the cooler. Now he watched her rise on tiptoe to reach a couple of wineglasses from a top cabinet. When his gaze slipped to her curvy bottom encased in the slim skirt, he redirected it to the calves her cat had caressed…and found himself no less turned on.

  “Damn!” she muttered, still on tiptoe. She had managed to grab one glass, but the second remained just beyond her fingertips.

  He cleared his throat. “Need a hand?”

  “Would you mind?”

  Kate stepped back, and he easily reached what she’d been after, noticing as he did so that a lower shelf had at least half a dozen wineglasses.

  “Why not use one of these?”

  “They’re everyday. The ones on the top shelf are for company.”

  “I’m flattered.” He handed her the goblet. Handblown, he’d bet.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “No problem. Some things are beyond your reach.”

  Her smile never faltered. “That’s what step stools are for.”

  The woman had an answer for everything. He watched as she pulled out a fancy-looking device and uncorked the bottle of white. That accomplished, she poured the wine through a handheld aerator as she filled their glasses.

  “You’re very…thorough,” he said.

  “I pay attention to details.” She handed him one of the handblown goblets. “I believe it’s the small things that make all the difference.”

  Since he ascribed to the same philosophy, he couldn’t help but admire her way of thinking. “Agreed.”

  Even though it wasn’t a toast, he tapped his glass against hers before taking a sip. The wine was crisp and pleasantly sweet without going overboard. Understated, much like the woman who had slipped onto one of the stools next to him. The hem of her skirt hitched up her thighs. But it was the humming sound of pleasure she made that had his blood turning thick and his hormones starting to buzz.

  “Mmm. This is as good as I remember. Do you like it?”

  He nodded, his mind taking measure of something other than the wine.

  She took another sip before continuing. “It would pair really well with some fresh mozzarella and sliced tomatoes drizzled in olive oil.”

  “Don’t forget the fresh basil leaves,” he managed, pulling himself back from the brink of temptation by concentrating on the mundane.

  “I see you know your caprese salad.”

  She chuckled as she regarded him over the rim of her glass. The eyes that watched him weren’t only filled with amusement, however. Distrust? Given the circumstances surrounding their relationship, probably. Interest? Possibly. Or was she merely playing a game? He decided to find out. He leaned forward.

  “So, Kate, why did you ask me in?”

  She blinked and her smile faltered. “I…I… To be polite? To thank you?”

  “For giving you a job?”

  “For fixing my flat tire.”

  “You did most of the work.”

  “Because you showed me what to do,” she shot back easily. “And then you were kind enough to give me a lift home.”

  They both knew better than to ascribe basic kindness as his motive, especially given the way he had to be looking at her right now.

  “Why did you accept?” she countered, going on the offensive.

  The move was bold, ballsy. Brody might hold her future at Douglass in the palm of his hand, but there would be no bowing or scraping from her. Even her gaze was level, unshakable.

  “Curiosity. You’re a puzzle, Kate.”

  “Am I?” Delicately arched brows rose at the same time the corners of her mouth turned down in consideration. “And here my grandmother thinks I’m too straightforward. She says I need to be more of a mystery.”

  “Oh, you’re that, all right.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell her you said so. She worries about me.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I am nearly thirty and single,” Kate replied in an imitation of a confidential whisper. “According to her, I should be married and have one or two kids by this point in my life.”

  “Why aren’t you married?”

  “That should be obvious.”

  “You haven’t met the right man,” he said.

  She made a tsk sound. “Why do you assume I’ve been looking?”

  “You haven’t been?” he asked mildly.

  She made a noise that was half grunt, half laugh. “I’ve been concentrating on my career. How about you? What’s keeping you single?”

  “The same.”

  “I’d imagine a lot of women must be heartbroken.”

  “Oh, no.” He shook his head. “No broken hearts. At least there shouldn’t be.” At her raised eyebrows, he clarified, “Any woman I date knows from the start that I’m not looking for a serious relationship.”

  “Right now or ever?”

  “Right now and possibly ever.”

  “Hmm.” She traced the lip of her glass with her index finger. “And they never try to change your mind?”

  He chuckled and too
k another sip of wine. After swallowing, he said, “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you’re not an easy man to sway.”

  That was usually the case, but, “You managed to.”

  Kate had been preparing to take a sip of her wine. The glass remained suspended several inches from her lips, which were now parted in surprise. “I did?”

  “Well, I didn’t plan to give you the position I did.” Guilt nipped his conscience a little, since his motives for doing so were less than pure.

  “So, you were just humoring me when you let me come in for an interview.”

  “No. But I didn’t expect to find you so—”

  “Qualified?”

  He smiled in lieu of an answer, deciding it best to let her fill in the blank. He’d never met anyone as determined as she was to defy expectations. Why is that?

  She drank some more of her chardonnay, her expression bemused. “Gee, I applaud you for keeping an open mind, although you did say I should come prepared to dazzle.”

  He chuckled. “I did say that, and I was. Am,” he corrected.

  They both fell silent. Brody lowered his gaze to her lips, allowed it to linger there a few seconds longer than he should have under the circumstances. He heard her breath hitch and before he could stop himself, he leaned toward her. That tantalizing mouth was mere inches away when he came to his senses and pulled back.

  He held up his glass. “You know your wine, too.”

  “I… Yes.” She cleared her throat, blinked, her left eye closing a millisecond slower than the right one. Was that disappointment he spied in her gaze? “It’s good, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll have to look for this label the next time I’m at the grocery store.”

  Her brows shot up in incredulity. “You grocery shop?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “I guess I assumed you would have people to do that sort of thing for you.” Her smile was teasing.

  “Touché.”

  “I do my own shopping, too. I even carry out the bags and load them into my car all by myself.”

  “Very down-to-earth.”

  “I try to be.”

  “Why?” he asked. “Why do you try to pass yourself off as…”