Mac had to agree with that. What he’d seen on the parchment Reese had dropped in the lobby had kept his erection hard all day. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to shake the fantasy of becoming Reese Brightman’s boy toy.
Why else hadn’t he approached her already and introduced himself? Because once she knew who he was and why he’d come to the island, everything between them would become complicated. For both of them. She’d know he was Mac Davies, the waffling producer of her TV show who wanted to tinker with the concept one last time.
And any chance for the fantasy might well be lost.
Disgusted with himself, Mac picked up his glass and took a long swallow of beer. She was making him nuts. She’d interfered with his ability to think clearly from the first instant he’d seen her on that TV screen, and now she’d clearly sent him over the edge.
All day he’d lingered in the background trying to decide what to do. And he was still dithering over it. The last thing he should be considering was pursuing some kind of crazy fantasy with Reese Brightman. She didn’t just attract him on a physical level. She had the ability to push his emotional buttons, also. Case in point—the bitter, coppery taste he got in his mouth whenever he thought of someone else becoming her boy toy.
He was lifting his glass for another swallow when he felt her. The sharp tug in his gut and the way each of his senses sharpened had him glancing up. As she moved toward his end of the bar, she was flanked by two men. He recognized Avery Cooper. The other man, tall and sandy-haired, wore a badge and a gun strapped to his belt.
So they weren’t taking the black rose lightly. But it wasn’t relief he felt as Reese and the two men slid into a booth almost directly to his right. The foliage of the plant partly obstructed his view, but he saw it as she sat down—just the edge of that piece of parchment sticking out of the pocket of her jeans.
First the words echoed inside of his head: You will explore all the sensual delights of having your own boy toy. Then the image filled his mind. They were in bed together. Candles flickered in the background, flowers scented the air, but his attention was on her face, watching her eyes darken, hearing her breath hitch, seeing how her expression changed as he touched her, slowly, thoroughly.
What might it be like to be Reese Brightman’s boy toy? To focus all his being on simply giving her pleasure? And making her his own.
“Can I get you another beer?”
Grant’s words seemed to come from a distance, and when they finally penetrated the sensual fog that engulfed him, Mac found that his hands were locked on the edge of the bar.
He wanted Reese Brightman with a possessiveness that he’d never felt for any other woman. And the intensity of his desire had been building to a flashpoint ever since he’d first met her.
“Sure,” he said to the bartender. But it wasn’t a cold beer that he needed. It was a cold shower.
“OPEN A BOTTLE OF OUR NEW Pinot Gris for Ms. Brightman,” Avery told the hovering waitress. “Sheriff Kirby and I will have the house draft.”
As soon the young woman hurried off, Reese said, “You didn’t have to come all the way up here, Nate. Your deputy, Tim, took my statement earlier.” She shifted her gaze to Avery. “You shouldn’t have called him.”Avery reached over to pat her hand. “I honored your wishes and I didn’t call your sisters…yet. Someone is going to a lot of trouble to threaten you. The sooner we put a stop to it, the better.”
Avery was right, she thought. Ever since the flower and the note had arrived, he’d tried to distract her with the last minute details of the Singles Weekend. He’d proposed that she end the festivities on Sunday afternoon with a cooking demonstration. And she’d slipped right back into her old M.O., using her work to escape from her problems.
She watched Nate pull out a notebook and flip it open. The flowers and the notes weren’t going to go away. Neither was Mr. Blue Eyes. She was going to have to deal with both problems, soon.
She’d caught glimpses of Blue Eyes off and on all day long and each time, his effect on her senses seemed to grow stronger, more urgent.
That moment in the courtyard when her eyes had locked on his, the heat rushing through her system had wiped out everything—all of her worries, all the stress she’d been under the past few months. She’d even forgotten all about the black roses and the notes.
If he could do that just by looking at her…what could he do if he touched her? What might it be like if he kissed her? If she kissed him back?
But each time her thoughts drifted in that direction, panic would bubble up. Could he be the man Hattie had chosen for her fantasy? Was Blue Eyes destined to become her boy toy? And what did she want to do about that?
Those were the questions that Avery hadn’t been fully successful in distracting her from.
And if she was going to take charge of her life, she needed those answers…. A little thrill moved through her at the idea.
“Reese?”
Gathering her thoughts, Reese saw that Nate had his pencil poised. First things first. Mentally, she squared her shoulders. “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”
“According to Tim, the first note just said, ‘Congratulations’?”
“Yes. I didn’t see it as a threat.”
Avery’s brows shot up. “My darling girl, even with your convent school background, you must have thought a black rose was a bit ominous.”
“I put it out of my mind.” And buried my head in the sand, as usual.
“The second note and flower arrived a week later. This time the message read, ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.’”
“Yes.” Hearing the words conjured up the chill she’d felt when she’d first read the message. But she’d ignored that one, too.
“The whole gist of that poem is about how fleeting time and life is,” Avery pointed out. “Why didn’t you report the incidents to the police?”
Reese drew in a breath. “Because I was a coward. I didn’t want to face the possibility that I was being threatened.”
Avery took one of her hands. “My darling girl, you’re not a coward.”
“I am. When you called and asked me to come for the Singles Weekend, I jumped at it. I thought if I could just get away from L.A. for a while, the whole problem might disappear. Or I could take care of it when I got back to L.A. When I got the note today, I realized that I wasn’t going to get my reprieve.”
“The third note is definitely a threat,” Nate said. “‘Enjoy the sweet taste of success while you can. It will end soon.’”
“I know. But I’m not going to run from it anymore. I’m aware that it’s a very bad sign that whoever this person is, he’s tracked me here.”
“Do you have any idea who could be sending the notes?” Nate asked.
Reese bit back a frustrated sigh. “No. I haven’t been dating, so it can’t be an ex-boyfriend. As far as I know, I don’t have any crazy fans. I live a pretty quiet life.”
“There’s Charles Dutoit,” Avery added with a glance at Nate. “He’s an ex-boyfriend and he’s here at Haworth House. He sent Reese three dozen white roses this afternoon.”
“He was just being kind,” Reese said. “He wanted to erase the memory of the black ones.”
“And he left a message at the desk asking her to have dinner with him,” Avery added. “Again. He’d asked her earlier, before the rose arrived, but she’d turned him down.”
“I can talk to him,” Nate said, “but it sounds more like he’s trying to rekindle an old romance than scare you. How about a rival? The first note and flower arrived after the news of your TV show hit the papers. Is there anyone who might be jealous of your success?”
Reese shook her head. “I know that there are a lot of young chefs who have to be envious. I’ve been on a fast track ever since I graduated four years ago from Le Cordon Bleu. But I can’t think of anyone who might do something like this.”
“Think harder,” Nate cautioned. “The notes all carry a hint of professional jealousy.”
“Sending black roses—that’s going to a bit of trouble,” Reese said.
“Not too much,” Nate said. “Tim checked with Lynn McNally, who runs The Best Blooms in Belle Bay. She gets orders for colored flowers every so often—usually around the holidays. The process is pretty simple. She told Tim it took her less than ten minutes to spray a white rose today. But she didn’t know anything about a black one.”
“So what do we do next?” Avery asked.
“Watch and wait. I’m assuming that you’ll keep an eye on Reese while she’s here this weekend.” He turned to Reese. “And I want you to keep thinking about people who might have a motive. Start back in your days at Le Cordon Bleu if you have to.”
“You could browse through those scrapbooks you keep,” Avery suggested.
“Scrapbooks?” Nate asked.
Reese felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Collecting memories was Sister Margherite’s idea. She’s the nun who first taught me to cook. She insisted that it was important to chronicle my culinary successes. Then whenever I doubted myself, I could just review my laurels. I still keep them.” The truth was, she’d brought new photos with her from L.A.