Taste for Trouble (7 page)

But
he wasn’t so hung over that he didn’t enjoy the scent of her—all sunshine and
sweet cream butter—as she swished past him. The sight of her pert backside
wasn’t lost on him, either. He followed her into the kitchen.

She
stopped just inside the doorway, gazed around the enormous space. “This,” she
said, “is a fantastic kitchen.”

He
blinked at her. “I hate this kitchen. I can’t find anything, and on the off
chance I do, I can’t figure out how it works.” He moved around her to poke at
an espresso maker the size of a Volkswagen parked on his granite countertop. “Like
this. This is a coffee maker.” He frowned. “Isn’t it?”

Bel
wrinkled her nose at it. “No. That’s a piece of high-end kitchen art.”

James
sighed. “Figures. Drew probably fell in love with the salesgirl.”

“Drew?”

“My
baby brother. He’s in charge of the kitchen.”

She slanted
him a glance. “He cooks?”

“No.
But he’s in charge of the kitchen.”

She
crossed to a stainless steel behemoth of a fridge and opened it. “So I see.”

“Hey,
the kid loves gadgets. And since practically everything in the kitchen plugs
in...” He leaned left and followed her bemused gaze to the contents of his
fridge: half a six-pack and a grease-stained pizza box. “Maybe he should stick
to updating my Twitter feed.”

“That
might not be a bad idea.” She closed the fridge. “What does your other brother
do? Decorate?”

“Will?
No.” James pulled a long-legged stool from beneath a massive island counter and
sank onto it to watch her unload her grocery sack. “He manages my career.”

She
paused, a carton of eggs in one hand. “How’s that going for you?”

“He
negotiates one hell of a contract,” he said. “Boy plays with money like it’s
Monopoly.”

“But
overlooks small details like morals clauses that saddle you with a babysitter?”

“There’s
that.” James propped his cheek on a fist and watched her tuck away groceries. It
was nice, watching her. She was so...neat. Efficient. Practical. It was almost
hypnotic, the way she moved around his kitchen. With five minutes and no
apparent effort, she’d unearthed a sauce pan from a cupboard he’d have sworn
didn’t exist and boiled water. She’d hauled coffee beans from her grocery bag,
zipped them into a heavenly smelling dust in a grinder (also from her
bottomless bag) then performed some miracle involving the water, the beans and a
glass contraption (also from the bag.) James was waiting for the loaves and
fishes to pop out next when a blessed mug of strong black coffee landed under
his nose.

“Wicked,
witchy woman,” James said, burying his face in the steam rising from the mug. “You
think you can bribe me into good behavior with coffee?”

Bel
studied him. “Yes.”

“Damn
skippy.” He sighed in satisfaction as the first kick of caffeine hit his poor,
battered system. Then she started cracking eggs into a bowl he’d never seen
before.

“What
are you making?”

She
raised a brow over the dripping eggshells in either hand. “Eggs.”

“For
me?”

“Yep.”
She reached into the fridge for a carton of milk, splashed some into the bowl
and started whisking the crap out of the eggs. A pat of butter melted in a pan
on the stove, filling the room with the promise of forthcoming sustenance. James
nearly wept.

“Wicked,
witchy woman,” he said again. “I will not fall in love with you so stop
trying.”

Her
lips twitched. “I’ll bear it in mind.”

An odd
contentment filled him as he watched her expertly flick eggs around the pan. He
could get used to this woman right quick. Addicted, actually.

The
thought slapped him back to reality. What the hell was he doing? Somewhere
between the coffee and the eggs, he’d lost control. She’d focused on him and
his needs, and he’d lapped it up like a dog instead of remembering that power
came from giving not receiving. So what did Bel West need that had her
scrambling eggs for strangers bright and early on a Saturday morning? And how
was he going to get the upper hand back by deciding whether or not to give it
to her?

“Okay,
I can see what I’m getting out of this deal,” he said as she slid a plate full
of fluffy eggs under his nose. He forced himself to ignore them for the moment.
“But what about you? With your résumé, I’m pretty sure you have other options. Why
this? Why us?”

She
leaned back against the stove, arms folded over her waist. “I want my old job
back.”

“And
this will get it for you?”

“Yep.”

“How?”

She
gazed at him. “You really need to talk to your agent more often.”

“Okay,
setting that aside, why would you even want that job back?”

A
wrinkle appeared between those no-nonsense brows of hers. “What do you mean?”

He
sipped his coffee, considering the bafflement in her face. “Weddings go south
all the time, Bel. Seems to me that if Kate Davis really valued you as an
employee, she wouldn’t be so quick to pull the trigger, you know? So I’m forced
to conclude that Kate’s maybe not that into you.” Her plump little mouth went
tight and James smiled. “Why on earth would you put yourself through what will
surely be several weeks of misery just to prove yourself to somebody who
doesn’t want you?”

Bel
stared at him. “I want my job back,” she said. “It’s none of your business
why.”

James
shrugged, but tucked away that interesting, hunted expression for future
consideration. “Your call,” he said easily. He picked up his fork and laid into
the eggs which were, unsurprisingly, incredible. He would have to watch this
woman.

“So
we’re winning you back a bad job,” he said. “How are we going to do that
exactly?”

She
smiled at him, slick and just a little mean. An unexpected splinter of lust
shot into his gut at the sight of that pretty mouth curved with such a sharp
wickedness.

“Why
don’t you call Bob and find out?”

He
frowned at her. At himself. He was generally pretty predictable when it came to
women. He loved them all but as a rule preferred the soft, curvy, agreeable
types. Now was not the time to develop a weakness for bossy, sharp-edged women
with magic grocery sacks and fallen-angel mouths.

“I’ll
do that,” he said around a forkful of eggs. God, this woman was dangerous. “After
breakfast.”

Will
Blake dragged his pounding head and uneasy stomach out of bed and down that
ridiculous
Gone With The Wind
staircase. He smelled eggs—the greasy,
salty, buttery kind that cured hangovers like magic—and he was getting his
share. Right before he died of a raging headache. At least he’d go a happy man.

Well,
full, at least. Will couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d have classified
himself as happy.

He
shoved at the kitchen door, held it propped open with a foot while he steadied
himself on the doorframe and squinted into the brutal light. James was already
there but Drew wasn’t. Good thing, Will thought. Drew ate like a Hoover.

James
looked up, then hunched over his plate and started shoveling eggs into his
mouth. “Nuh-uh,” he said around the food. “Mine.”

Will
tsked. “That’s not the Blake family way,” he said, advancing on his brother. “What
do we always say?”

“We
don’t say anything,” James mumbled and washed down an ambitious mouthful of
eggs with a slug from the mug at his elbow. Coffee? Will sniffed. Yes, indeed. There
was coffee, too. Hallelujah.

“Family
first,” Will told him. “What we have, we share.”

James
curled a protective arm around the plate and gripped his fork like a weapon. “I
will defend these eggs with my life.”

Will
shifted his gaze to the mug. “How about that coffee?”

James
glanced at it, momentarily distracted, and Will leapt. God, his head. But he
was going to have those eggs.

Bel rose
from her squat next to the produce drawer of James’ fridge just in time to see one
of his brothers take him in a flying headlock and drag him off his stool. They
disappeared behind the island counter, locked in pitched battle over...what? Bel
leaned over the counter for a better look. Possession of the fork? She checked
the drawer. There were at least half a dozen others right here. She shook her
head and reached for the egg carton.

She
was beating more eggs into a milky froth when the third Blake brother strolled
into the kitchen. Where James and the first brother were both fair and wiry,
this one was tall and lanky with hair like ground nutmeg. He gave her a sweet
smile and stepped over his brothers like he did it every morning. He probably
did.

He
paused only briefly to snap a phone-photo of the melee at his feet, then seated
himself at the island counter.

“If
there’s any chance you’d part with some of whatever’s in that bowl, I can
almost guarantee I’m going to propose marriage,” he said, eyes still on the
phone, typing with his thumbs.

Bel
grinned at him. “I’m not in the market for a fiancé, thanks. But you can have
the eggs.”

He finished
whatever he was typing and set aside the phone to co-opt James’ abandoned
coffee. He tasted it and that sweet smile bloomed again across a long, angular face
that was more charming than handsome. “I think I love you,” he said. “Who are
you?”

Bel
slid a plate of eggs across the counter with a fresh fork and said, “Propose
first, ask questions later, is that it?”

He
sampled the eggs and his eyes lit up. “Forget it. I don’t even need to know
your name. We’re heading to Vegas just as soon as I’m done eating.”

The
scuffling behind the island counter paused. “Damn it, Will, Drew’s getting
round two of the eggs.”

“
Round
two
?” Will popped up beyond the counter like a prairie dog, just his head,
and he scanned the room until his gaze landed on Bel. “Who are you?”

Drew
shook his head. “No, son, see the first question is always
can I have some
of that
? And that’s why I’m eating while you’re rolling around on the floor
with your own brother like the pervert you are.” He helped himself to a
leisurely sip of coffee. “I tweeted a photo, by the way.”

James
staggered to his feet in triumphant possession of the fork. He plopped onto a
stool beside Drew and resumed eating as if nothing out of the ordinary had
happened. Bel was afraid that perhaps nothing had. He gave Drew a black look
and stole his coffee back.

Drew
gave him that same sweet smile he’d used on Bel and said, “You were busy.”

James
grunted and shifted the mug to his other hand, the one farthest from his
younger brother.

Will
hadn’t moved. He hadn’t shifted his gaze from Bel and those hard pale eyes
weighed like stones on her. “James?” he said. “Introduce your friend.”

“That
tone’s not going to get you any breakfast,” Drew told him.
No kidding
,
Bel thought.

“That’s
Bel,” James said, concentrating on emptying his plate with maximum efficiency. “Bob
sent her. She’s our new nanny. Live in.”

Drew
made a happy noise.

“Apparently,
she and Bob have cooked something up that will get her back in front of the
Kate
Every Day
cameras while rehabilitating my sadly tarnished public image.”

“Ah.”
Will gave Bel an assessing up-and-down. “You bit on that, huh?”

James
paused mid-bite and said, “You do?”

Will
gave his brother a terse summary of the same plan Bob had outlined for Bel a
few hours ago. James pushed back from his now-empty plate and listened in
silence, sipping thoughtfully at his coffee.

“You
have to admit,” Drew said around a mouthful of eggs. “We could use some minding.”
He chewed contentedly. “I, for one, intend to write Bob a nice thank you note. You
should, too. The minute you get home.”

Will
and James turned twin frowns on Drew.

“Get
home?” James said.

“From
what?” Will said.

Drew
held out his hand for James’ coffee. James sighed and handed it over. Drew took
his time about the first sip then said, “From the underpants party.”

Bel
stared. “The
what
?”

“Some
underpants company gives James bushels of money to wear their tighty whiteys,”
Drew told her. “They’re having a big thing tonight. James is supposed to make
an appearance.”

James
looked a question at Will who thought for a moment then nodded. “Contractual
obligation,” he said. Bel wondered if he had the wording of each individual
contract in his head, available for consultation.

Drew
grinned at him. “Bummer for you.”

“Oh
well. At least I won’t be lonely.” James smiled, slow and satisfied. “Because you
know what we say here in the Blake house.”