Selling Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 1) (42 page)

Only when no reply was forthcoming from around my feet did I realize who else was conspicuously missing. Where was Admiral Theodore Whiskers? Usually, by the time that I crawled out of bed, he was loudly meowing for his breakfast.

But a quick search of my little cottage revealed no fat orange tabby, and no handsome next-door neighbor. I did, however, discover a sheet of paper placed on the counter in my kitchen, folded in half and with "ELAINE" written on the side facing out to me.

The note was from Sanford. It informed me that I should come next door, and that he had my cat. I frowned down at it. Was it a friendly notice, or was this some sort of ransom? "Come alone, bring ten thousand dollars in unmarked bills, or you never see your cat again?"

Well, I didn't have money - he did. I went upstairs, pulled on some jeans and a tee shirt that didn't smell too bad, and then locked my house and headed over to the Winterhearst mansion.

As usual, Winston opened the door for me, the butler giving me no indication that he was the slightest bit surprised at my showing up. "Come inside, Miss Dean," he offered to me with his usual little head nod. "As instructed by Mister Welles, there are pastries and freshly brewed coffee waiting for you in the kitchen."

"What about Mister Welles himself? And my cat?" I asked him.

"Also in the kitchen. Right this way, please."

I, of course, knew my way to the mansion's kitchen by this point, but I still tailed after the butler. How in the world did he get that tuxedo so starched and pressed every day? I wondered to myself as I walked behind him. Did he have a dozen identical suits, or did he just wear the same one, and somehow wash it while it was still on his body? Maybe he didn't even sweat any longer, so the suit never got dirty.

When I came around the corner and entered the Winterhearst mansion's kitchen, much larger than my own, I found Sanford sitting at the counter, sipping a cup of coffee and looking at me with satisfied eyes over the brim. I tried not to smile back at him.

"Kidnapping my cat? You had to resort to stealing poor Whiskers in order to get me over here?" I asked him.

"Kidnapping?" he repeated, eyebrows raised. "Please. The poor animal was starving and followed me over."

I snorted. Given his fat reserves, Whiskers wouldn't be "starving" for weeks, probably months, without breakfast. "Where is he now?"

In answer, Sanford just pointed down towards his feet. The counter, however, blocked my view; if I wanted to see where he was pointing, I'd need to move in closer. I felt a bit like a water buffalo, slowly being lured towards the watering hole where the crocodile waited to snap me up.

Still, I scooted around, drawn in part by the soft but very distinct slurping and smacking sounds coming up from somewhere below Sanford's waist. Sure enough, there was Whiskers, not even glancing up at me as he happily buried his face in the open can of cat food down at his feet. From the sounds he made as he slowly bumped the tin can further and further away from him, scraping the inside with his tongue, he was enjoying his breakfast.

"I didn't know that you had cat food over here," I said, only slightly mollified by the sight of my pet getting his meal.

"Winston got it. Said that it might come in handy. I just showed up with the cat, and he trotted it right out. I'm surprised that it wasn't on a silver platter."

"Still, you kidnapped my cat!" I insisted, returning back to my original point and trying to hold onto my outrage.

"Again, he followed after me. Snuck out of the door before I realized what was going on, went running ahead of me back to my house." Sanford shrugged at me, the perfect picture of injured innocence. "What was I supposed to do, grab him and try and drag him back to your house and then shove him inside so I could make my escape?"

Well, yes, he should have done that! Or maybe not have left in the first place, and instead come back up to bed so that he could wake me up in a more pleasant way. Still, I didn't have the energy to argue the point, so I instead moved over and helped myself to a cup of coffee and a muffin from the tray that Winston had sitting out on the counter.

When I looked back up, after taking a big gulp of the deliciously warm, flavorful coffee, I saw Sanford still watching me. Something had shifted in his eyes, however, moving from casual taunting to burning warmth that promised to get me into an entirely different type of trouble.

"Hey, keep it under control," I warned him, although it was hard for me to talk with my mouth half full of muffin, and the other half grinning so widely that I felt like the top of my head was about to fall off. He still wanted me, and looked ready to leap over this counter and take me right here in the kitchen!

"I'm finding that surprisingly tough," he said back to me, straightening up from where he'd been leaning against the counter. Wow, he was tall and masculine. He dominated the room, seemingly without effort.

A part of me almost gave in right there, putting aside my coffee and letting Sanford do his best to put on a repeat performance of last night. I managed to resist, however, and just smiled coquettishly back at him.

"Afraid not," I said, not sure if the regret in my tone was because I wanted to tease Sanford, or because I really wanted to give him the opportunity to perform. "It's after nine, so I'm on the clock. Got to get to work, boss!"

He actually winced at that, like I'd physically hurt him! "Boss," he repeated back to me. "Not what I want to hear from the woman I'm sleeping with."

My eyes went wide as I glanced over my shoulder. "Shush! Winston's going to hear you!"

"Right, because he never noticed what we were doing for the last few days, all around the house." Still smiling at me, Sanford moved around the counter, tugging me into his arms so that I got a full noseful of his intoxicating scent. "Relax, give in, and let me show you the water pressure in this place."

Ooh, so tempting. "Nope. Got to get to work, if I'm going to make enough money to pay my mortgage," I said, pushing him away with a pang of regretful longing. "Now, I really just need to buckle down and do some research today, look up a lot of these smaller antique pieces, so I don't need your muscles."

Sanford shrugged, reaching out for his coffee. "No problem. I've got other things to keep myself busy."

"Really? Like what?"

He shrugged as he lifted the cup to his lips. "Dunno, but I'll figure out something."

I liked this new side of Sanford. I'd thought that the man was so cold and harsh when I first met him, but now it seemed like he'd really just needed to get laid, maybe several times, and then he'd be back to normal. If this was the real Sanford - warm, sexy, and hungry for me, with arousal burning in his eyes - I could happily live with him.

Er. I stopped at that thought. Not that I wanted to live with him. Or had really thought at all about the future, after all. I just wanted to have fun for now, to not worry about where this relationship might be heading.

But maybe, somewhere down the line...

I tried to imagine Sanford as a husband, tried to imagine him getting down on one knee to propose. Okay, I could see him down on one knee, his arms reaching out towards me, but it definitely wasn't because I was imagining him proposing.

"You okay there, babe?" Sanford asked, in the middle of my musings. "You're blushing a bit."

"Fine, fine, nothing's bothering me at all!" I stammered out, which probably didn't do anything to help with the blush. "I'm going off to work!"

Still, even as I hurried out of the room, snagging one last muffin to serve as a midmorning snack, I felt my thoughts returning back to that earlier topic, wondering where this all was headed. Was this the sort of thing that would blow over after a week, or did we actually have a future together?

Don't think about it, I told myself. Focus on the job, and on having fun in the moment. You're getting out of your shell, Elaine Dean, and you don't need to cloud up this happiness by worrying about how it might come crashing to an end.

So instead, I ate my second muffin, opened up my computer, and moved around on the second floor of the old mansion until I found a spot with a decent wifi signal, where I could stay connected to the internet for more than fifteen seconds without my browser just turning into a sad face. I grabbed a handful of as-of-yet unidentified antiques from the nearest bedroom, spread them out on the floor in front of me, and began my research.

I explicitly did not let my thoughts wander off to the sexy man on the floor below me, and what he might be doing while I sat up here, alone in the dust and the old objects surrounding me on the floor.

Chapter Twenty-Two

*

"The end is in sight! Hooray, I'm almost done!" Beaming, I pushed my glass across the bar towards Della. "Fill me up, barkeep!"

"Well, you're certainly happy about it," she remarked, smiling back at me as she obeyed my command with the bottle in her hand. "Finally going to get that killer paycheck that you've been hunting for, all your life?"

I nodded, although the paycheck was just a small part of why I couldn't seem to wipe this silly, sappy grin off of my face. The other part, obviously, I couldn't divulge to Della, given my promise to Sanford, even though the secret burned inside me like I'd swallowed an ember, or maybe an especially hot chili pepper.

To tell the truth, the last week had turned out to be heaven, even more so than the week before. I wasn't sure what exactly changed after that night out at the restaurant, but Sanford began spending more time over at my cottage, sleeping next to me in my bed with his big, warm arm draped over me. Whenever I asked him, he insisted that he was only walking me home in the evenings because he hadn't yet gotten around to rigging up more lights for the property. "I don't want you to fall and break something in the darkness," he told me, more than once.

Hah! A likely story! If Sanford was just worried about me getting home safely, why not just give me a flashlight - or even more revealing, why did he insist on staying every night to watch me undress, his eyes drinking in the sight of my body before he lost his last little sliver of patience and dragged me into my bed so that he could have his way with me?

Of course, it was also his fault that I had to carefully navigate my way back in the dark in the first place. Despite his grumbling, he obeyed my rule of not attempting to seduce me - at least, not trying too hard - during the hours of the day when I was working.

As soon as five o'clock rolled around, however, all bets were clearly off - and this man pulled out all the stops.

On the first day of this rule, after I finished my research for the day, I made sure that I'd marked all the researched antiques with yellow sticky notes, the little slips of paper covered with my sources and with guesses at the potential values of the items. Stowing away my laptop, I headed back downstairs.

Halfway down the main stairs, I paused as my nostrils caught the scent of something absolutely wonderful, something that immediately started my mouth watering. I probably ought not to poke my head into the kitchen, I told myself. I'd just find Winston toiling away at making dinner for his master. He'd drag me into helping, and I'd end up sticking around and cooking, like I was just more hired help.

The smell was so delicious, however, spices and meat and fat all bubbling up and wafting out from the kitchen and into my nose and mouth. Oh, what the heck. Maybe Winston would let me get a taste.

I stuck my head into the kitchen - and froze, staring.

A man stood behind the stove, sure enough, currently with his back turned to me as he diced vegetables deftly on a cutting board next to the range. But one glance at that dark, curly hair and those broad shoulders told me that this was not Winston the butler.

"Sanford?" I exclaimed in surprise.

The man jumped, and then let out a curse. "Dammit!" he growled, turning around to glare at me. "Don't sneak up on me like that! I nearly lost a finger!"

I tried to look apologetic, but I couldn't keep up the expression when I saw what he was wearing. "Does that apron really say 'Kiss the Cook'? You really own one of those?"

Sanford looked down at his apron, his mouth twisting. "It was a present from my- well, nevermind. It keeps some of the splashes off my shirt, so I wear it. So what?"

"Don't worry about it." I giggled as his expression turned even more thunderous. "So," I said quickly to change the topic before he blew up at me, "what are you making?"

The distraction gambit worked. Sanford immediately began describing how he was making some sort of ethnic chicken dish, with turmeric and coconut milk and some sort of leaves from a lime tree. Whatever it was, it looked just as delicious as it smelled, the chicken practically flaking apart in the thick and creamy sauce, surrounded by vegetables.

"I didn't know that you could cook," I managed to slip in, when he next paused for breath.

For just a moment, Sanford looked a little embarrassed. "It's basically just learning to follow a recipe, and then adjusting based on personal taste. There's nothing really special to it." He glanced sidelong at me. "Do you want some?"

Didn't need to ask me twice! "Anything for dessert?" I asked eagerly as he pulled a second wide bowl out of a cupboard, setting it alongside one that he'd clearly intended for himself.