Twice the Temptation

“Right.”

After pocketing his cell, Mac made his way back to the hotel. As much as he might be wary of her on a personal level, making sure that he delivered the best possible show for her had to be his first commitment. So he’d stay long enough to convince her that Haworth House would nail the kind of ratings that would help both their careers.

Then he’d fly back to L.A.

That settled, he climbed the steps and entered the lobby. A buzz of conversation drew his attention to the arch that opened into a courtyard. A small group of staff members and guests had gathered around one of the tables. He spotted Avery Cooper first. As he moved forward, he saw that the manager had his arm around Reese.

It took him a couple of seconds to recognize the man on Reese’s other side. Charles Dutoit. He was one of the up-and-coming restaurant chefs in the Los Angeles area—very popular with the young movie star crowd. The man’s agent had been shopping him around for a TV show. Mac had even looked briefly at some video clips, but though the man was handsome enough, there was something about Charles Dutoit that hadn’t clicked for him.

What was the L.A. chef doing here at Haworth House?

Mac spotted Tess, the waitress who’d been so friendly to him, and joined her at the edge of the group surrounding Reese’s table.

“I’m just over-reacting because of jet lag,” Reese was saying.

“I don’t think so,” Charles Dutoit commented. “A black rose is a nasty thing to send anyone.”

Mac was tall enough that he caught a glimpse of the rose. A chill worked its way up his spine. He spoke in a low voice to Tess. “What happened?”

“Oh, Mr. Davies.” She, too, spoke in a hushed voice. “It’s the most horrible thing.” She paused, glancing back at Reese. “Ms. Brightman just arrived and she was having lunch with Mr. Cooper. There was a flower delivery for her and I brought it right out.”

The young woman’s eyes were wide when she met his. “It was this black rose. And there was a note.”

“Do you know what it said?”

She shook her head. “No. But it upset her. I heard her tell Mr. Cooper that she’d received two other notes recently in L.A. and they both came with black roses.”

Mac shifted his gaze to Reese. She was perhaps five feet away, and he could all but feel the fear radiating off of her. For an instant, the urge to comfort, to protect was so strong that he’d taken a step closer before he stopped himself.

Introducing himself right now and asking if he could help wouldn’t be wise. He’d bide his time until after she’d settled. Until after he’d settled, also. Then he’d introduce himself and sell her on using Haworth House as the setting for her show. That was, after all, his goal.

For a second time, he shifted his gaze to the black rose. His stomach clenched. One threatening incident might be some sort of a sick joke, but three black roses and three notes? Could Reese have acquired a stalker?

Celebrity was a multi-edged sword. And he bore some responsibility for setting Reese Brightman on the path to stardom. Two weeks ago, Variety had published the news of her upcoming TV pilot. Could that have brought her to the attention of a crazed stalker?

Whoa! Mac shoved his hands into his pockets. He could be jumping to conclusions. There could be another explanation for the black roses. Perhaps someone was jealous of her success, or maybe there was an ex-boyfriend involved.

Or a current boyfriend? His gaze shifted to Charles Dutoit. He didn’t know anything about Reese Brightman’s personal life. He hadn’t wanted to before now. But it was clear that she and Dutoit were acquainted. What was the man doing at Haworth House?

A waiter from the bar area moved past him and carried a snifter of brandy to Charles Dutoit.

After taking it, the man turned to Reese. “Here, my dear. I ordered this for you. Take a sip.”

When Reese took the glass, her hand trembled so much that Dutoit had to take it back and set it down on the table.

Once more, Mac found himself stifling the urge to go to her. Whoever had sent the roses had scared her. His temper surged. He’d like to have a heart-to-heart talk with the guy. Soon.

Then he shifted his gaze to Dutoit, who’d taken Reese’s hands in his and leaned closer. Mac couldn’t catch what he was saying, but there was an intimacy in the way he was talking to her that left a bitter, coppery taste in his mouth.

Anger and jealousy were just the kind of emotional responses that he didn’t want to have. Didn’t allow himself to have. If you didn’t become too attached, you didn’t get hurt.

A moment later, Dutoit walked to a nearby table and took a seat across from a woman in a wide-brimmed straw hat. Others in the small group around the table also dispersed.

Mac would have turned away then if Reese hadn’t glanced over and met his gaze. In the long moment when their eyes held, desire rushed through him, hotter and more urgent than anything he’d ever experienced before. It melted him, skin, bone and muscle. And made him ache.

An image flooded his mind. He was with her in a very small space, and those long limbs were naked and wrapped around him, trapping him. He had no choice but to take her—to move into her and feel her heat wrap around him, trapping him even more forcefully.

The sensations, the image lingered even after she’d lowered her eyes. He couldn’t move. He didn’t dare until he was sure that when he did, he’d have the power to walk away.

3

Thursday evening—the day before Singles Weekend

“HERE YOU GO.” A young bartender whose name tag identified him as Grant set a beer down in front of Mac.

“Thanks.” Mac guessed Grant to be in his early twenties and he had a tendency to talk in bullets. “Are you always this busy?”

Grant grinned. “August. Height of the season. The restaurant closes at 10:00 p.m. Guests only have two choices.” Grant held his hands out, palms upward imitating a scale. “Here or their rooms.”

“From the looks of it, there are very few in their rooms.”

“Just the way we like it,” Grant said.

Mac glanced around the nearly fully occupied room. The U-shaped bar with its richly detailed mahogany panels and brass trim filled the center of the room. In a corner, a grand piano sat on a small raised stage surrounded by a dance floor. Windows lined one wall and, during the day, the ocean could be seen in the distance.

Grant pulled down two wineglasses from an overhead rack and used a practiced eye to fill them evenly. “Some of the guests are early arrivals for our Singles Weekend. Are you staying for it?”

“Yes.” And he’d dithered over that decision as much as he had over selecting which venue to use for Reese Brightman’s show.

It wasn’t just because he might have some responsibility for the threatening notes she’d been receiving. Or the fact that he had a vested professional interest in keeping her safe. Or even that he had yet to approach her about using Haworth House for background shots in her TV series.

All of those reasons were valid ones for staying on at Haworth House. But Mac knew that his decision had also been influenced by what he’d read on that damn parchment paper. And by the feelings Reese Brightman could trigger in him.

Otherwise, why would he be sitting here, waiting, on the off chance that she’d come into the bar? He’d purposely chosen a seat at one end of the counter, between the drink pick-up station and a richly foliaged plant that offered a clear view of the archway to the lobby. If she did make an appearance, he’d see her.

He was glancing in that direction when Charles Dutoit entered the room and scanned the tables, obviously looking for someone. The woman he’d been having lunch with earlier? Mac glanced around, but he didn’t see her.

Or was Dutoit looking for Reese? The thought had Mac frowning. The man certainly seemed to have some history with her. Was the L.A. chef here for the Singles Weekend? Mac’s frown deepened.

After a moment, Dutoit whirled and exited into the lobby.

“It’s the first Singles Weekend we’ve ever held,” Grant said as he efficiently loaded a tray with drinks. “Very exciting. Lots of events to encourage mixing, like hiking and a volleyball tournament on the beach.”

Grant leaned closer to Mac. “And tomorrow night we have a very special event scheduled here. Guests are going to be able to draw fantasies from our resident ghost’s fantasy box.”

“So I’ve heard. What can you tell me about this box?”

“Long story. Very romantic. Think Romeo and Juliet, West Side Story.”