Thigh High (24 page)

“We're practically strangers and you want bareback? No way.” He poured her more coffee and lifted the cup so she'd take it.

She did and drank the whole cup at once. “Did I just suggest we forgo condoms?” Horrified, she stared at the empty cup and couldn't remember drinking it.

He snapped his fingers three inches from her face. “Track my fingers.” He moved them left to right and back again. She followed them and focused as hard as she could. “And yes, you asked if I wanted bareback.”

“That's crazy.” She looked at her plate. Scraped clean. She never ate that much breakfast. She'd had enough food on her plate to feed a lumberjack.

She ran a hand across her belly. “I can't believe I finished my plate.” She leaned back in her chair and took stock of how she felt. Stomach full, pulse normal, fog lifting from her mind. She smiled. “I'm fine now. Maybe you were right about me being nutrition deprived. I got lightheaded.” Crazy was more like it.

“Yes, that must be it.”

“Did many people eat in the dining room?” At least she hadn't made a public fool of herself. With Matt she could be anything. Foolish or smart, sexy or not, sharp minded or foggy. He seemed to like her every mood.

As much as she liked his.

Like the one he was in now for instance. Concerned but happy. Conscious of her every thought and word. But aware, too, of her need. Always aware.

“None of the women were there, just the men. Everyone must have decided to eat in their rooms.”

“At the same time,” she said, wondering at the coincidence. “And only the men went for the food?”

He nodded. “Not a woman in sight. You'd expect at least a couple of them would want to choose their own breakfast.” He frowned, obviously thinking as hard as she was about the oddity.

“Especially if they're used to running companies and managing departments,” she added. “Do you think they feel as foggy headed as we do sometimes?”

He shrugged. “Who cares? I want to focus on us today. What would you like to do now?”

She let the questions go, uncertain that she cared enough to pursue them. Matt didn't care, she shouldn't either.

“Mind if we go for a walk around the grounds?” Movement would help digest the lumberjack special.

“A walk would be great.” He reached out and moved a tendril of hair from beside her eye. “There are several acres to explore. Woods ring the grounds and there's a gazebo in the side yard at the foot of the lawn.”

“Give me fifteen minutes,” she said, scooting into the bathroom to shower.

The sting of water on her face cleared her thoughts again. Something weird was going on with her. Matt was right. She should see her doctor. First thing Monday, she'd make an appointment.

Offering Matt bareback was insane. Gobbling her food like a robot was off the wall. But when she thought about it, she'd had the same reaction to her dinner last night.

The meal had been perfect, served impeccably. But she couldn't recall tasting any of the courses or the wine.

She had to be slipping a couple of mental gears. The question was, why? How? Was there some drug in the food?

Doubtful, she realized. Drugs were created for serious health concerns. No pharmaceutical company spent money just to muddle up your head. Matt had the right idea. She should focus on the weekend and spending this time with him.

So what if it took her years to find another breakout story. She tried to like the idea of plodding from dog shows and theme-decorated houses to mall openings.

No, no, no! She would not let her career stagnate. She had to stay focused. She scrubbed her face with both hands, trying to shake her brain cells back into the correct configuration. If only it were that easy.

She thought back over the notes she'd typed, reminded herself of the questions she still needed to ask.

Right now, as the hot water streamed over her, she knew what she needed to do.

Talk with Faye Grantham. Openly and candidly. A chat with Liam Watson would get her answers as well.

An engaging conversation, a few remarks deftly woven through an easygoing chat would get her started. Yes, that would work.

She'd try to set something up for later.

She shut the water off and stepped out of the shower. Matt waited, fully dressed, with a heavy heated towel for her. The guests of Perdition House were afforded every luxury.

She smiled at Matt. And promptly forgot what it was that had seemed so important just a moment ago.

“Thank you,” she said, and raised her face to his to kiss the tip of his nose.

Bemused and amused, he followed her into the bedroom and watched as she dressed.

By the time they got to the bottom of the stairs, they realized they were in the middle of a stampede of people. Everyone who had been at the auction the night before was in the front hall. “What is this?” Matt said, more to himself than to Carrie.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” she muttered, leaning up to his ear. “It's like a cattle drive. Did we all get the same idea at the same time again?” Like sending the men to get breakfast and eating it in their rooms. “Was everyone having sex at the same time too?”

“I don't know, but I'm not heading out the door with everyone else,” he said. Then he grabbed her by the hand and tugged her along behind him as he skirted through the crowd to the dining room.

The room was blessedly empty. All evidence of breakfast had disappeared. Not a serving tray remained; all the dishes were cleared. Not even the scent of bacon remained in the room. She hardly had time to register the lack of scent when, without stopping, he pushed through the swinging door.

“You can admire the kitchen later,” Matt said as he led Carrie through the swinging door from the dining room. “We've got to get outside.” Where he could think. Carrie wasn't the only one with thoughts that led nowhere. Maybe outdoors he'd be away from whatever the hell influenced them inside the house.

He tightened his grip on her hand, determined to keep her moving when she stalled to stare open-mouthed at the kitchen. It was like stepping back through decades, but he couldn't afford to stop and admire.

Urgency to get outside rode him hard. He passed a pantry door on the left, barely registering the bottles of preserves that still lined the shelves.

“Wow,” Carrie said from behind him. “Look at all this stuff.” Her voice had the faraway sound in it that told him she'd gone foggy again.

Through the window in the top half of the door he saw a couple of high-backed wicker chairs. Obviously a side porch.

All he had to do was step outside and Carrie's head would clear. If he could just keep her moving, they'd be fine.

He opened the door and heard low voices coming from his right. A man and a woman. The man's feet rested on a low wicker table.

“Someone's out there,” he whispered to Carrie, holding her behind him, hesitating. He wasn't sure he wanted to be seen, but the need to escape the house overrode his caution.

“So?”

“So, nothing. Let's go.”

He opened the door and stepped out onto the side porch, keeping Carrie close behind him.

“Good morning, Matt. Ms. MacLean,” Faye Grantham said with a merry smile and nod of greeting. “Care to join us?” She waved an elegant hand to encompass the high-backed wicker chairs.

“How lovely!” Carrie said and took a seat. Her face lit up happily.

The urgency to flee the house winked out and he slid into the chair beside Carrie. She was different from Faye. Faye was sexy, beautiful, and he could see why Liam Watson had fallen for her. But to Matt, she was just a lovely woman, not a woman to be desired.

He saved all that for Carrie. Odd how right that felt already, but there it was. He couldn't see himself with any other woman.

Faye's lush curves were draped in dark pink satin. Delicate lace trailed from her elbow to her wrists. The nightgown and matching robe were like something out of a thirties movie, sleek and clingy. The setting, the clothes, even her swept-up hairstyle, made Faye elegant. In a lot of ways she looked like she belonged in another time. The perfect hostess for Perdition House because the mansion
was
from another time.

Beside him sat Carrie, dressed in jeans and a fleece with a well-worn pair of sneakers on her feet. He'd rather be alone with Carrie, but she looked more interested in chatting with Faye and Liam for the moment.

Two extra coffee mugs sat on the tray beside Liam Watson. “Did you expect us?”

“Of course; we often have people drop by here. This side of the house is more private. And our guests always seek privacy.” She assessed them both with a critical eye. “You seem quite refreshed this morning. Enjoying yourselves?”

“Very much,” Carrie said, reaching for the coffee mug Faye offered.

Matt accepted a mug as well, keeping a sharp eye on Carrie for any befuddled behavior. Maybe the earlier silliness had been lightheadedness from hunger, but he had his doubts.

“So, Faye,” Carrie said quickly. Her eyes looked bright and inquisitive. She seemed fine. As sharp minded as he'd ever seen her. “Have you always lived here?”

“No, I haven't. I inherited Perdition from a great aunt.”

“It's beautiful. You're lucky to live here.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Faye remarked. “It's difficult to keep up, expensive to maintain and I'm forever fielding the temptation to sell it to developers.” She glanced pointedly off to the right, as if addressing someone else.

Liam cleared his throat. “What about you, Matt? What is it you do when you're not…”

“Selling myself?” Matt smiled to let the other man know there were no hard feelings. “I'm a writer working on a screenplay,” he lied.

Carrie took a sharp breath and stared at him. “A writer?” she said, clearly shocked. “You didn't tell me that.”

“I dabble,” he admitted, and sipped at his coffee watching Faye's reaction. He couldn't recall what phony career he'd created on his questionnaire.

While Liam gave a light cough of surprise, Faye smiled enigmatically. “Good luck,” she said. “I hear selling a screenplay is tough. Perhaps you should stop into my store, TimeStop, and talk with Kim, my manager at the Fremont location. She's got a lot of contacts in Hollywood.”

“TimeStop? That's an interesting name,” Carrie said. “What do you sell?”

“Hollywood castoffs mostly. I used to specialize in clothing from the heyday of Hollywood.” She waved a hand down the bodice of her gown to indicate the decades-old style. “But lately we've been doing a brisk business in more contemporary pieces.”

“Your peignoir is beyond beautiful,” Carrie gushed, and reached out to fondle the lace that trailed from Faye's wrist.

Faye indulged her feminine response to lovely material with a pleased smile. “Thank you. It was worn in a musical in 1936.” She fluttered the sleeves, and Carrie gave a sigh of appreciation. The women lapsed into a conversation sprinkled with words like
ruche
and
bias cut
and
rhinestones,
and both men tuned them out with a shared grin.

“Interesting architecture here,” Matt said.

“I could show you around some,” Liam offered. “There have been several additions, all of them in the same style, all of them at least seventy-five years old. The original building is coming up to a century.”

“Let's go,” Matt responded, and stood.

They left the women chatting. Matt had a feeling that once out of earshot, their conversation would change. Carrie's questions had taken a turn to more recent times. He heard the word
auction
come up just as he and Liam walked around the corner out of earshot.

 

Carrie caught a glimpse of the men as they rounded the front turret, deep in conversation about the foundation. Liam pointed to something by the wall. Matt looked interested and walked up to examine the brick and mortar. He really did have a nice butt.

She turned back to Faye and went in for the kill. “So, how did you come up with the idea for the bachelor auctions, Faye?”

“It seemed a good way to launch a business. Promotional dollars being at a premium, and the house being my biggest asset, it seemed a good match. Perdition House has a reputation for providing the ultimate in accommodations.”

She'd just bet. “It's odd, but before I arrived I thought I'd look up whatever information I could find on the house itself. The architectural history, the historical archives, that kind of thing. There's no mention anywhere. Hard to believe a home of this size, with grounds like this still in existence, would be ignored by so many people who've been painstaking in their drive to protect and preserve places just like this.”

“I've never checked archives. But I dare say not many people want my family home listed on any historical documents.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Seems it was used as a house of pleasure for too many years. Right up until the mid-1960s, in fact.”