One Lucky Vampire (7 page)

So . . . the blood and refrigerator would have to wait. He could always call Bastien and ask him to send both out to him if he couldn’t find a way to manage the task himself. A refrigerator wasn’t usually an item Argeneau Enterprises supplied, at least he didn’t think it was, but he suspected Bastien would make an exception. Especially when he found out Jake was here at his mother’s behest. Besides, he’d be happy to pay for the extra service.

Jake quickly tidied the kitchen. There wasn’t much to do there. Marguerite had returned her coffee cup and he put that and his own in the dishwasher, along with the couple of spoons they’d used. He then put the milk and sugar away, wiped up the counter and he was done. He was crazy restless though, and after a hesitation, he went downstairs, donned his coat and boots, and unlocked the front door to go outside.

It was snowing out, the front steps already covered with a thin layer of new-fallen snow. Jake supposed he’d have to take care of that before Marguerite left tomorrow. But he’d leave it till morning, or at least until the snow stopped, he decided, as he turned to lock the front door with his key. As he started walking along the front of the house, he added arranging for the installation of a security system for the house to his list of things to do the next day. With any luck, he could get someone out right away and have it done first thing in the morning while Nicole slept. Then he just had to tell her after the fact as if it were a typical chore he was expected to do . . . and he would in his capacity as bodyguard. Jake suspected few cook/housekeepers were ever called upon to manage the task though.

Smiling at the thought, he walked around the house. It was a full moon tonight, the snow showing up in gray relief with moonshadows cast by the many trees in the yard. Jake automatically scanned the area as he walked, looking for footprints in the snow or moonshadows that might be someone who shouldn’t be there. He didn’t see anything.

Jake’s eye was drawn to a large puddle of light splashing across the snow-covered yard when he turned the corner to the back of the house. He knew the light was coming from Nicole’s studio windows, but he was surprised they were uncurtained at night. He was also surprised to find himself drawn forward like a moth to a flame.

Pausing on the edge of the light where he wouldn’t be visible, Jake peered into the studio, amusement tugging at his lips when he saw Nicole with headphones on, dancing around as she dabbed at a stretch of canvas with a paintbrush. There were three canvases set up, each at a different stage of completion. One looked to be barely started, a pencil sketch of what appeared to be a couple. It was too faint and he was too far away to be able to see the features, but Jake suspected it was Marguerite’s son, Christian, and his fiancée, Carolyn. She’d mentioned that she’d come with photos for Nicole to use for the portrait. He guessed that Nicole must have set to work that evening on the initial sketch for the portrait. The next canvas held a half-done portrait of a rather stern-looking older man against a dark and dramatic background. The last was a rather lovely woman who looked vaguely familiar. That one looked nearly done.

Nicole did a little whirl in front of the woman’s portrait, and then suddenly shifted to the half-finished stern-faced man, and Jake watched with fascination as she began to dab at the background there with the same brush. It seemed she was working on the three canvases at once, he thought with surprise, his gaze dropping to her behind as she paused in her painting to do a little bump and grind to whatever music she was listening to.

It took about two minutes for it to occur to Jake that his behavior was kind of creepy. He was sort of acting like a peeping Tom. Or, really, he supposed he
was
being a peeping Tom, standing there staring in at an unsuspecting Nicole.

Grimacing at his own behavior, Jake forced himself to continue walking. He made his way around the outside of the splash of light on the lawn, determinedly not looking in the window again. He then continued around the side of the building and back to the front of the house again.

There were no footprints but his own in the new-fallen snow, Jake noted as he walked to the front door and unlocked it. But he hadn’t expected any. Whoever had unlocked the door twice that day now knew Nicole had company. They’d wait until she was alone to try again, he was sure . . . unless they’d already done something none of them yet knew of. The thought was a troubling one. There were so many options in every house. Poison could have been put in anything from food and drink to perfume or lotion. The electrical could have been messed with, a stair rail could have been loosened, or the chandelier that hung in the curve of the stairwell . . .

Jake grimaced as he walked under the large ten-foot chandelier hanging from the cathedral ceiling some twenty feet up. Having that suddenly crash on to a mortal would definitely kill them. On the other hand, that wasn’t even a possibility. The culprit would have needed something to get him up to the cathedral ceiling to mess with it. But there were tons of other possibilities, and Jake simply couldn’t check them all. He could check a lot of them though, he decided in the next moment. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, and he wasn’t going to be sleeping tonight.

Four

N
icole groaned when the alarm went off and rolled over to slap at it unhappily until it shut off. Her eyes then drifted closed on a little sigh, only to pop open again as she recalled that she’d set it for a reason. What had that been? Oh, right, she’d promised to see Marguerite off, Nicole recalled, snuggling sleepily into her pillow and wondering if it was really necessary.

Painting had gone amazingly well last night and she’d worked until nearly 7
A.M
. Nicole hadn’t realized that would happen when she’d made that promise last night. Maybe she could just go back to sleep.

The woman was her aunt’s boss, Nicole reminded herself and considered that fact, but really, just because she was Aunt Maria’s boss didn’t mean Nicole had to get up to see her off, did it?

On the other hand, her mind argued, Marguerite was also kind of her boss too. At least she was a client. Although, surely the lady would be glad to know Nicole had worked so hard and would want her to get her sleep so that she could work that hard again tonight, right?

Except that she was also a really nice woman, who had always been kind to Nicole and who had even gone to all the trouble of finding her a hunky cook/housekeeper when Nicole mentioned she needed one.

Her eyes popped open again at that point and Nicole was suddenly rolling out of bed. Though, truth be told it was the thought of her hunky cook/housekeeper that had her suddenly wide awake and eager to head out to the kitchen rather than any sense of responsibility for seeing off her houseguest, which she should be ashamed of and would be . . . later, Nicole promised herself. Marguerite was a lovely woman, and Nicole had been raised to always be kind and polite. Seeing the woman off was what a good hostess would do, and Nicole would feel guilty for even hesitating over the matter. Later . . . when she’d had more sleep. For now, she wanted a shower, some coffee, and to see if her housekeeper was still here.

Her shower was a fast one. Nicole followed it up with brushing her hair, pulling it back into a ponytail, and then sitting down at her makeup table to put on some face powder and blush. That was something she rarely did first thing in the morning. She usually had her coffee before doing anything the least little bit ambitious. Nicole was not a morning person.

She headed into her walk-in closet next, stopping short at the door as she recalled the glass on the floor and the painful efforts Marguerite had made to get the glass out of her foot last night. However, one glance showed that the glass was gone.

Nicole stared at the spot for one perplexed moment, slow to conclude that someone had gone to the trouble of cleaning it up last night while she was painting. The fact that it took any time at all for her to realize that was pretty pitiful considering that was the only explanation, but then she really wasn’t at her best in the morning . . . especially after only four hours of sleep.

Sighing at how distressingly slow her brain was in the mornings, Nicole pulled out jeans and a T-shirt and began to struggle into them as she considered who might have done the job. There were only two options: Marguerite and Jake. She couldn’t imagine Marguerite doing it after bringing home a cook/housekeeper for her. On the other hand, Jake shouldn’t have started work until this morning. But one of them must have taken care of it.

Nicole had her clothes on and was heading out of the closet before she realized that she’d forgotten to don panties and a bra. She swung back toward the closet, grimacing at what a pain it was going to be to tug the jeans off, and just as quickly swung away, only to swing back. She might be able to do without panties, but going braless was not an option. She was full figured everywhere.

Muttering under her breath, she moved to her underwear drawer, dragged out a bra, pulled off her T-shirt and quickly donned the torturous contraption that squeezed her breasts in and up. At least it seemed torturous this morning, but then she was exhausted and so not a morning person, something that kept ringing through her head. To her mind, vampires had the right idea. The world was quiet at night. No one called at 2
A.M
., or dropped in for coffee and a chat then. She could and did work undisturbed during the wee hours. It was bliss.

Once she had the bra on, and had replaced the T-shirt, Nicole made her way out of her room. She was crossing the combined living room/dining room, headed for the kitchen, when the upstairs guest bedroom door opened. Her head swung toward it, a smile of greeting claiming her lips for Marguerite. But it faded, replaced by surprise when she saw Jake coming out of the room.

“Morning,” he said before ducking into the washroom.

“Morning,” Nicole murmured, but doubted he’d heard it. He was already closing the bathroom door. Frowning slightly now, she continued on into the kitchen, eyes widening in surprise when she saw Marguerite seated at the island, perusing the paper. The woman beamed a smile when she spotted Nicole.

“Oh, good morning, dear,” Marguerite greeted. “You’re just in time, Jake made coffee and a lovely brunch for us. It’s in the oven staying warm, but he’ll be back in a minute and probably serve it right up. He just ducked into his room to change his shirt. I bumped into him as he was whipping the eggs and some of it slopped on him.”

“His room?” Nicole said uncertainly. “He was coming out of your room when I—”

“Oh,” Marguerite waved that away with a laugh. “I moved my things downstairs and told him to take the upper guest room. It seemed sensible for him to be on this floor since this is where he’ll be doing most of his work, and it would have been silly to make him sleep downstairs last night and then have to move all of his things upstairs today.”

“Oh, of course,” Nicole said slowly and turned to find a cup and pour herself a coffee. She was in desperate need of one now as she considered that the man had slept a wall away last night . . . close enough to hear her snore. Well, if she did snore. Or what if she talked or mumbled in her sleep? Or tossed and turned a lot? How much could he hear through the wall?

“I hope you like omelets.”

Nicole gave a start at that question in a deep male voice. Jake had returned. She offered him a weak smile as he pulled on oven mitts and moved to the stove.

“I had to work with what was available, so I made toast, and an omelet with sausage, onion, potatoes and cheese in it. But if you don’t like eggs or something I can make you French toast, or pancakes or—”

“No, the omelet is fine,” Nicole interrupted, her mouth watering when he opened the oven door and a lovely scent rolled out on a wave of heat to tempt her nose. “It smells lovely.”

“Doesn’t it?” Marguerite agreed cheerfully. “I did tell you he was wonderful.”

“Yes, you did,” Nicole said faintly, following Jake to the kitchen table in the corner. Really she was following the two plates of omelet, not Jake; he just happened to be carrying them.

Her gaze slid over the table, noting the tablecloth, which she rarely bothered with, and the place mats with perfect place settings. Jake had even set out salt and pepper, ketchup, and A.1. sauce, and milk and sugar . . . which reminded her of the coffee she held in hand that still needed doctoring.

“Sit,” Jake ordered and then added, “You too, Marguerite. Dig in before it gets cold and I’ll grab mine and the toast.”

Nicole sat at the table and quickly added cream and sugar to her coffee, but her gaze was on the omelet. She was not good at making omelets. Hers always came out as messy scrambled eggs, but these looked perfect. Light, fluffy, and oozing with yummy stuff. She actually found herself swallowing repeatedly as saliva built up in her mouth and was glad to be done with the coffee business so that she could try the omelet.

Fortunately, Jake returned to the table just as she set her coffee aside to take up her fork and knife. Nicole had been raised that it was only polite not to eat until the cook had finished and joined the table. The cook being her mom when she was taught this notwithstanding, Nicole would have felt terribly guilty for digging in before Jake was seated. But she would have done it. Now it wasn’t an issue.

“Mmmm,” Nicole murmured, once she’d popped the first bite into her mouth. It really was good. If the man made omelets for her every morning she’d be happy to get up to eat them, morning person or not. And if all of his cooking was this good, the man deserved a raise, she thought, which reminded her that they hadn’t discussed his wages yet. Or anything. She supposed they’d have to sit down and hammer things out after Marguerite left. What pay he expected, what his job description included, and what he expected from her too, because, seriously, he was already looking too good to be true. Nicole didn’t want the trial two-week period to end with her wanting him and his culinary skills to stay, and him unhappy with her as a boss and wanting to leave.