And he needed his shoes.
He scanned the area around him, but they were nowhere to be seen. Still, shoes didn’t just walk away. Dropping to his knees, he checked beneath the bed.
Nothing.
Rising, he dropped his gaze to Reese as she stirred and then settled back to sleep. His other option was to postpone everything else and just crawl back into bed with her. The urge to do just that, the yearning to simply go to her, was so strong that he’d taken a step toward the bed before he realized he’d moved.
Whoa!
He’d already pushed the acting-on-impulse envelope pretty far. If he wanted more than one night with Reese Brightman, he was going to have to figure a few things out. And that would require some thought and planning.
Luckily, he was good at both. Turning away from the bed, he strode toward the door. First, he’d take a shower and change.
A cold shower.
He glanced at his watch. He needed to have a chat with Avery Cooper about buying a little time. He only had one shot at telling Reese who he was and why he’d really come to Haworth House, and he couldn’t blow it.
A plan was already forming in the back of his mind when he opened the door and his foot sent a box shooting across the width of the hallway. Pain shot up his leg.
“What happened?”
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Reese crawling across the bed, her eyes squinting against the light pouring in from the corridor.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“No.”
It was her gasp that alerted him even before he glanced back to see what had so effectively ruined his escape plan.
A florist’s box.
His kick had knocked the cover off and several black roses lay scattered across the hallway floor.
Each of them was withered and dry.
With fear icing his veins, Mac stepped in front of Reese, blocking her view as he detached the card. Then he drew her back into the room, shut the door, and pulled her into his arms.
“They’re dead,” she murmured.
He said nothing, but he continued to keep her close, her cheek against his chest, his hand at the back of her head. He wasn’t sure whether he was giving comfort or taking it. The only thing he was certain of was that he wanted to hold on to the moment. Hold on to her.
Finally, she drew her head back and met his eyes. “Let me see the card.”
Releasing her, he pulled it out of the envelope. They read it together.
You never should have come to L.A. Now you will pay.
7
Early Friday morning—Singles Weekend, Day 1
TEA. HIS IRISH NANNY had believed that a good strong cuppa cured everything. So that’s what Mac had offered to make for Reese after he’d drawn a bath and settled her into it.
Now he needed to settle himself. He had to get a handle on the emotions churning around inside of him. First and foremost, he felt fear, because he had a gut feeling that whoever was behind the flowers and the notes meant Reese serious harm.Then there was anger, not only at the person who was scaring Reese but at himself. He’d gotten so caught up in her that he’d pretty well forgotten about the threat that had followed her to Haworth House.
While the flame licked at the bottom of the kettle, Mac pulled two mugs out of the cabinet in the small kitchenette. If it weren’t for the earliness of the hour, he would have poured them both a brandy.
Leaning a hip against the counter, he tried to clear his mind so that he could think. In the courtyard that morning, his first instinct had been to attribute the black rose and the note to a fan who was stalking her. But the sheriff was favoring a jealous fellow chef.
You should never have come to L.A. Now you will pay.
Mac searched the cupboards, placed tea bags in the mugs and located a tray. Reese had come to L.A. to wind up her cookbook tour and she’d remained because of the TV series. The question was, who might have been threatened by it?
A fellow L.A. chef like Charles Dutoit?
The man was an old lover and now a rival in L.A. Other than that, Mac’s knowledge of him was sketchy.
He glanced at his watch. It was two in the morning in California, and he knew his personal assistant might just be getting in from a night of club hopping. Michelle was young, detail-oriented and was a fount of information on the latest gossip around town. What she didn’t carry around in her head, she could research.
Pulling out his cell, he dialed her number. “Michelle?”
“Do you know what time it is?” she asked.
“I do. But I also know you’ve never turned in this early in your life. Listen, would you mind finding out everything you can about a chef named Charles Dutoit? We looked at some video clips for a possible TV show a while ago.”
“I remember. He owns a restaurant—Avec Charles, one of the new ‘in’ spots with the young Hollywood crowd.”
“That’s the one. Can you dig up everything you can find on him, including his early training at Le Cordon Bleu? Also, I’ve just learned that Reese Brightman received two threatening notes and a couple of black roses while the pilot was being filmed. See if you can find out anything from the production crew.”
“Is she all right?”
“So far.”
“I’ll assume you want the information ASAP.”
Mac smiled. “That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
“Right.”
His mind racing, Mac put his phone away, then placed the mugs on a tray and found a carton of milk. Reese had been in L.A. for six months, but she hadn’t mentioned running into Dutoit there. Had he purposely followed her here to make a connection? Why?
Mac pulled out his cell again. The one thing he was sure of was that he had to let Avery know about the latest flower delivery—and about Dutoit’s persistence—so that he could pass the information along to the sheriff.
REESE LEANED BACK AGAINST the end of the tub and tried to let the perfumed water settle the uneasy feelings churning around inside of her.
She had to think.That was what Mac had told her as he’d drawn the bath and talked to her in a low, soothing voice.
She’d been shivering then. She’d actually seen herself shaking in the mirror that framed three sides of the bathtub. Not even the robe he’d wrapped around her had seemed to help.
There’d only been one other time she’d felt like this—years ago when she’d been weeks away from graduation at Le Cordon Bleu and the world had fallen apart around her. She’d run away that time.
Turning, she faced her reflection in the mirror and frowned. She’d come a long way from that young, scared girl. History was not going to repeat itself. She’d come to Haworth House to deal with the fantasy she’d drawn out of Hattie’s box. She was doing that, and she was going to deal with the black roses, as well.
Think.
Problem was, all she’d been able to think about while Mac had wrapped her in a robe and set her on the side of the tub was him. How was she supposed to make her brain function while she was watching those large hands fiddling with tiny bottles of bath salts and oils? He’d even lit candles.
Mac popped his head in the door. “While I was waiting for the water to boil, I called Avery Cooper and filled him in on the latest flower delivery. He’s going to give us an hour before he wakes up the sheriff. I told him you needed some time to settle.”
Settle? The moment Mac disappeared again, she rubbed the heel of her hand against her chest where the tight little band was squeezing her heart. Before she started to think about those black flowers or draw up a list of possible enemies, she had to figure out what to do about Mac.
She owed the person who’d placed that little surprise outside of her door a big thank-you. If they hadn’t left the box for Mac to stub his toe against, he’d be gone right now.
And he might not have come back.
She rubbed her chest again. On some level, she’d sensed when he’d left the bed. But it hadn’t been until he’d kicked the box that she’d come fully awake.
She wasn’t stupid. He’d been fully dressed except for his shoes and he’d been on his way out.
Her fantasy might have been over.
She narrowed her eyes on her reflection. But it was her fantasy, after all. So she should have some say about who walked away and when.
Mac entered the bathroom, carrying a tray. “I’ve made tea.”
Something inside of her took a little tumble. It had been a long time since anyone had made tea for her. And no one had drawn a bath for her in years. Including herself. She took showers.
Taking the mug that Mac handed her, she studied him over the brim. The bathroom wasn’t small, but he seemed to fill it.
The black T-shirt and jeans revealed every line and angle of his body—the broad shoulders, narrow waist and lean hips. Just looking at him brought back sensory memories of what it had been like to run her hands over those lean, hard muscles. The water surrounding her in the tub suddenly seemed hotter, the room suddenly smaller.
She wasn’t through playing with her boy toy. Not yet.
“Did you come up with a list?”
She blinked. “List?”
He frowned at her. “Of your possible enemies. Of anyone from your past who might want to hurt you. Surely, you’ve put Charles Dutoit at the top.”
Matching his frown, she considered for a moment. “I was never his enemy. He was the one who broke things off with me. I’d be the one with motivation for revenge.”
“Have you ever been to his restaurant in L.A.?”