A MAN CALLED BLUE (18 page)

Simone watched him glide away, then hesitated, looking intently at the six doors leading off the main floor of her house, as she tried to remember which one led where.

Blue laughed at her obvious confusion. "This way," he said, taking her hand.

Seconds later they were in her spacious, fully equipped kitchen. While Blue walked to the large fridge, Simone looked around, feeling out of place in her own house. Her only input to this room had been her signature on the checks needed for its renovation. She wondered vaguely why she'd bought what looked like a hundred or more copper pots, dangling like firelit jewels over the butcher block table dominating the room's center.

"Sit," Blue instructed, gesturing with his chin toward one of the stools abutting the table. She sat and watched him put cheese, tomatoes, garlic, pasta, and olive oil on the table. He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands.

"Need any help?" she asked nervously, hoping he didn't. She had no desire to make a fool of herself by being inept and clumsy in a room where most women claimed true and lasting glory.

Blue shook his head as he poured them both wine. "No, thanks. One galley is much the same as any other. I'll manage, but if you see me put anything on the table you don't like, holler."

She didn't holler. She watched, sipping her wine, as he worked with sure brisk movements, his wonderful hands as deft at working with food as they were at everything else he did. She frowned. "You certainly know your way around in here. How is that?"

He dumped the penne in the water he'd set to boil earlier and turned the timer. "For the past week, Marie and I have been keeping steady company." He worked while he talked, putting the brie to soften over warm water, then dicing the tomatoes.

"You've been eating here?" Simone was oddly hurt. He could have been with her.

He glanced up before turning his attention back to chopping. "Wanting you wasn't in my contract I figured you wouldn't be too pleased if I started chasing you around your desk so I made some space." He scooped the tomatoes into a saucepan. That done, he turned his full attention back to her, while he wiped his hands and moved around to her side of the table. "But, now I know you're as hot for me as I am for you, I think Marie is going to lack for company in here."

He lifted her hair, which he'd insisted she wear down today, and kissed the nape of her neck, making her flesh heat and tingle. He gripped her shoulders, turning her toward him. When she faced him, he pulled her to her feet, flush against him, and tilted her chin until she looked into his eyes. Not that it was a hardship, she decided happily. She wrapped her arms around his waist and instantly wondered why they'd spent the day looking at Crown jewels in the Tower of London, when they could have been doing something much more interesting.

He kissed her then, a deep provocative kiss, bringing her every nerve quivering to alert. Blue pulled back, resting his forehead against hers.

"Have you ever made love on a butcher block before?" he asked, his clean, wine-kissed breath soft against her face.

She shook her head.

"Want to?" he pulled his head back and grinned.

"Can we do it and still have the pasta
al dente?"

He shook his head reluctantly. "Not if I make love to you the way I want to."

She traced his jaw with her finger, her own voice breathy and uneven. "And exactly how is that?"

"Long, excruciatingly slow... and deep. Very, very deep." He kissed her then, claiming her mouth until a jarring buzz interrupted. The timer. He pulled back. "Damn!"

Simone managed a quivery smile.
"Al dente?"
she asked, gesturing toward the boiling pot.

"Me and the pasta," he said, matching her smile with one of his own and releasing a breath. "I think we'd better eat—for strength—and get the hell out of Marie's kitchen." With that, he sat her down on the stool. He stepped away, then turned back, his expression uncertain.

"What's happening between us, Simone," he said. "It might be more than you think it is or want it to be. Can you handle that?" He tilted his head, waited.

She didn't know how to answer him.

A trickle of fear dampened her full heart and she dropped her gaze. She didn't want to talk about what was happening between them, didn't want to make it one more problem, one more obstacle to be faced. She wanted Blue's strong body pressed to hers, making mind-emptying, sense-bending, body-draining love.

But could she trust him enough to risk the life she'd built, Josephine's certain censure—and her already damaged heart? She'd worked so hard these past years, planned so carefully. She swallowed, hoping to mask the turmoil his question evoked.

"Let's not get into... anything," she finally stammered. "Let's just enjoy our weekend—the here and now. Isn't that enough?"

For a moment he stared at her, his expression unreadable, then he shook his head slowly. "No. It's not, but if you want it that way—" he picked up the tea towel "—that's how we'll play it. But right now—" his smile came back as he removed the roiling pasta from the stove "—let's eat."

He stirred the tomatoes and Brie into the hot pasta and served them both. He joined her after cutting a fresh baguette.

"This is wonderful," she said after her first taste. "Where did you learn to cook like this?" She took another forkful, savoring the smoky taste of the Brie.

"No mom, remember? Dad and I were left with a choice. Either conquer the kitchen or spend our lives eating boxed macaroni and franks." He shrugged lightly. "And most of the time I'm alone on
Three Wishes,
so galley duty is a must."

Simone stopped her fork an inch from her mouth. "Most of the time?"

Blue glanced at her, one eyebrow raised marginally. "Is it time to exchange sexual histories?"

She colored. "No, of course not." She took a forkful of pasta into her mouth to keep it busy. She had to stop asking questions. It wouldn't do her any good to know more about him. No good at all. She tried to think of a safe topic when the room filled with a strange buzzing. While she looked around for its source, Blue got up and went to the intercom on the wall and answered it. He immediately reached for a pen.

"Okay, Harold, thanks. I'll give it to her."

He came back to the table, a puzzled look on his face, and handed her the slip of paper he'd written on. It held a phone number. "Marie took a message for you shortly before we got back from a Gabriel Doucet. He wants you to call him immediately."

Simone took the paper from his hand, muttered her thanks, and stared at the number.
Gabe had called.
She quelled her disappointment at missing his call, willed her heart to harden. He'd walked out on her.
Now all he wanted was money.
She folded the note and placed it beside her plate.

"Hm-m, this
is
good," she said, determined to put the matter aside. She wanted nothing to do with Gabe or his crass request for funds. She would ignore him as he'd ignored her. Decision made and final. She speared some pasta and her fork made a metallic sound as it scratched her plate.

Blue hadn't moved since handing her the note. Now, ignoring his half-eaten meal, he reached for his wine and leaned against the table. The position allowed him to face her. He sipped without speaking. Simone ignored the questions in his eyes and focused her attention on her plate. Blue said nothing. When after a few moments, he still hadn't spoken, she put down her fork and looked up at him.

"If you must know, Gabriel Doucet is my brother," she volunteered grudgingly.

He drank some wine, his gaze staying with her. With an irritated breath, she pushed her plate back. "We're estranged. Does
that
satisfy your curiosity?"

He didn't move, not a quiver not a tic.

"I haven't seen him in years."

Blue dipped his chin, acknowledging her statement. "Where does he live, this brother of yours?"

She picked up the piece of paper. "Bruges. That's in—"

"Belgium. I know." He put his wineglass on the table, folded his arms, and tilted his head. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly. It's family business. It doesn't concern—" she stopped, suddenly aware of how curt her words were.

"The hired help?" he volunteered calmly.

"No. That's not it at all. I'm just not sure there's any point to talking about it." She fingered the note containing Gabe's number. "It's complicated."

Blue didn't speak for a moment, simply reached over and touched her hair, curling a few strands idly around his index finger. "I'm beginning to think everything about the Doucet family is. So tell me about this brother of yours."

Simone glanced up, caught immediately by Blue's steady, thoughtful gaze. Without warning, her eyes misted and she quickly looked away. "I loved him once," she said."We were friends, the best of friends. At least I thought we were." She lifted her head. "He left home a few days after my fifteenth birthday. I never heard from him again."

"Why?"

"Good question." Simone stood and wrapped her arms around herself. "And one I can't answer. He had a fight with Josephine, but that wasn't anything new. She was determined he go into law, but Gabe had other ideas. They were always at loggerheads about it, but this time..." Her voice trailed off. "This time was different. He came into my room in the middle of the night and told me he was leaving. Said he didn't have time to explain, but he'd write and tell me everything." She dropped her arms to her sides, straightened before reclaiming her seat. "He didn't, of course."

"Did you ask Josephine what happened?"

"The next morning."

"What did she say?"

"That he was cut from the same cloth as his father and we were well rid of him."

Blue whistled softly but made no comment.

"I never heard from him again. No telephone call, no note. Nothing." She felt her lips curl. "Until a couple of weeks ago when he wrote asking for money." She closed her eyes briefly, not wanting Blue to know how much that hurt.

"Money or no, you could go and see him. Wasn't Bruges originally on your agenda?"

"A brief stab of curiosity, nothing more. The fact is, I wouldn't cross the street to see him, let alone the English Channel." Her words came out vengeful, harsh to her ear and no doubt to Blue's as well. She didn't let herself care.

Blue was quiet, his expression contemplative. She had no idea what his thoughts were and didn't ask.

She picked up her fork and poked at her pasta. "And now can we drop the subject? It's spoiling a wonderful dinner." She didn't want to examine her motives or her refusal to see Gabe. Maybe because on some deep level she knew it was simply a need for retribution, and that she was more her mother's daughter than Blue imagined. A truth that should make her happy. It was what she wanted, after all. Why then did it chill her to the bone?

Blue's gaze held hers a moment longer, then kissed her cheek. "Consider it dropped." He ran his knuckles over the skin he just kissed, then gestured with his head at her abandoned dinner. "Done?"

She nodded and pushed her plate back. Blue's touch lingered on her cheek, now the only warm part of her restless body.

He took her hand and pulled her to a standing position, then led her out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room. When the door closed behind them, Blue easily banished the chill. The restlessness persisted.

* * *

Early the next morning, Blue made arrangements to borrow Harold and Marie's car. Simone wanted to tour Bath, and no way would he drive that ocean liner of hers. The Dreisers' Rover was perfect, and so was the gentle English countryside they meandered through to reach their destination.

Bath's famous hot springs, at a consistent 120 degrees, had eased its share of tense aristocratic muscles through the years. And historically, the charming town with its elaborate curve of Georgian homes did its bit by providing a relaxing country experience for England's weary gentry.

Blue hoped it would do the same for Simone. For most of the day, she was as quiet as a morning calm, but not nearly so serene.

He was confused. Last night their lovemaking was, if anything more satisfying than the first time, but afterward, Simone, at least the mental Simone, left him. In the early hours of the morning, he woke to find her curled into a tight ball with her back to him. She was, or had been, crying. He'd pulled her into his arms, but nothing he said or did would make her talk about it.

He guessed her bleak mood had to do with the call from her brother. Hard to figure a guy who could walk out on a sister like Simone, but then all the Doucets were a puzzle. Gabe probably would be no different than his sister and mother, intelligent and strong-willed. The family was like an unset fracture, the bones splintered and left to create a dull, constant ache. He had the dim thought that someone should help them reconcile. Someone—but not him. He had his own challenge. Simone.

On the way back to London, he thought about that. It was Sunday night. Zero hour. He hadn't made much progress on this wooing campaign of his. He needed more time, and as of tomorrow, the Hallam business would eat into it—big time.

He frowned and compressed his lips.

"What's wrong?" Simone asked. "You look as if you just swallowed a horned toad."