Taste for Trouble (27 page)
James
blinked at her. “We’re what?”
“Throwing
a ball.” Kate gave him that icy smile of hers and took a sip of coffee. “It’s a
fancy party involving dancing.”
“Thank
you,” James said. “But I understood the word.”
Beside
him, Bel cleared her throat. “You want us to throw the Fox Hunt Ball.” It
didn’t sound like a question.
James
frowned at her. “The what now?”
Kate
beamed at Bel. “Clever girl. Indeed I do.”
“A
little help?” James turned baffled eyes on Bel.
“The
Fox Hunt Ball,” Bel said slowly. “It’s a tradition in this part of Virginia—hunt
season opens with a black tie ball.”
“Hunt
season?” James rolled the words around in his mouth. “As in red coats and
panting dogs and horns and horses all pounding through the woods after some
scrawny little fox?”
“Yes.”
“Great,”
James said. “Good thing I left England.”
“It’s
an annual tradition dating back hundreds of years,” Kate said. “It’s the
premier social event of the season in this part of the country and it raises a
great deal of money for charity.”
“Kate
throws the ball at Hunt House,” Bel told him. “She’s been doing it for years.”
“Which
means that the bones of the event are already in place,” Kate said. “All you
and James need to do is fill in the blanks.”
“Which
are?” James asked.
“Well,
the catering, of course. We’ve contracted with our usual company, but menus
need to be finalized, servers instructed and trained, personal touches.” Kate
waved a vague hand. “You know, details.”
“I do
know,” Bel said with a grimness that made James wonder if she’d actually been
the one handling them in years past.
“I’m
sure Bel will see to them with her usual efficiency. You won’t need to worry
about that piece of it.”
“Well,
that’s a relief,” James said.
“Then
there’s usually some kind of act or entertainment. A raffle or a silent auction
or, goodness, anything really.” Kate smiled serenely. “As long as it’s in good
taste and valuable enough to inspire loosened purse strings.”
“Uh
huh.” James looked across the table at his brothers, then down the table at his
agent who’d been absolutely and uncharacteristically silent all evening. All
three of them regarded Kate with varying degrees of wariness. Yeah, James kind
of got that vibe himself. “And who’s in charge of coming up with that bit?”
Kate
sparkled at him. “Why, you are.”
“I
am?”
“Of
course. And I’m sure you’ll do it marvelously. You’re quite a remarkable young
man, James.”
Will
made an abrupt noise of disgust. He threw back the last of his wine and rose. “And
that’s about all the James worship I can take for one evening. My stomach, you
know. It’s sensitive. You’ll excuse me.” He shoved in his chair and stalked out
of the room. James frowned after him. Will had always been prickly but this was
getting uncomfortable. He glanced a question at Drew, who lifted his shoulders.
“You’re
a bit spoiled, perhaps,” Kate mused, unconcerned by Will’s sudden departure, “but
that was to be expected, given how early and easily success has come to you.”
“I don’t
guess I ever thought of it as easy,” James said.
Kate
went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “The benefit being, I suppose, that you have
time to grow out of it. Especially if you continue to force yourself into the
occasional bout of introspection.”
James
glanced at Bel who studied the tablecloth with ferocious concentration. “Or
hire somebody who forces me into it.”
“Whatever
works.” Kate patted his hand briskly. “That insight along with your athletic
ability and your undeniable...” She squinted thoughtfully at him. “I suppose
charm
is the word I’m looking for.”
“Thank
you, ma’am,” James said humbly.
She
gave him a sharp look. “Neither of which you earned, both of which you’ve been
content to employ solely to indulge your and your brothers’ every whim.”
James
wiped the grin from his face and tried to look appropriately remorseful.
“What
I am providing you with, James, is the opportunity to take the gifts God gave
you and for the first time put them to work for somebody other than yourself. I’m
offering you the chance to be not just a decent man but a good human being. To
have a positive impact on the world, to connect with real people in a
meaningful and lasting way. I do hope you’ll take this seriously.”
“Yes,
ma’am,” James said. He glanced at Bel, her gorgeous mouth pursed into a worried
little knot, the light from the chandelier playing on her bent, shiny head. The
urge to cup his palm around the back of that slender neck, to bring her lips to
his, to soothe away that stiff unhappiness was nearly overwhelming. “I plan to.”
After
dinner, Bob saw Kate back to Hunt House like the gentleman he was. He walked beside
her along the crushed shell path that edged the pond while the moonlight limned
her pale hair. They climbed the gentle rise toward Hunt House, and that
moonlight just kept sliding down. It touched her sharp cheekbones, the straight
length of her nose, the delicate curve of her lips.
“You’re
perfect,” he said.
“Excuse
me?” She turned to him, one brow arched in pleased surprise.
“You
are,” he said. “In the moonlight. That face of yours. It’s like you were made
by a master craftsman.”
“Why,
Bob. That’s lovely.”
He
shook his head and continued walking. “Good thing, too. You’re no spring
chicken, but the camera still loves you.”
She
laughed and fell in beside him. “And here I thought you were getting
sentimental in your old age.”
He
shrugged. “I am. Didn’t I just tell you you were beautiful?”
“You
did.”
“There
you go, then.”
They
walked on in silence, the night air moving gently in the leaves overhead. Kate
stopped at the French doors that opened from her office into the back yard. She
cocked a brow, her lips curved with a faint wickedness.
“Should
I invite you in?”
Bob
shook his head slowly. “You know where I stand on that.”
“Oh,
for heaven’s sake.” She rolled her eyes. “Not this again.”
“Yep.
Just old fashioned, I guess.”
“You,”
Kate said, wrapping her hands in his lapels and pulling him in for a slow,
lingering kiss, “are the furthest thing from old fashioned that’s ever made a
mess of my bed.”
Bob
swallowed hard and gathered up the scattered ashes of his resolve. God, that
mouth of hers. “I’m getting too old for sex without commitment, Kate.”
“I
gave you a commitment,” she said. “When I retire, we’ll be together.”
“Invite
me in again when you retire, then. I’ll say yes. Until then?” Bob stepped back
from her greedy hands. “I can wait.”
She
followed him, slid one warm hand up the plane of his chest, her pout
heart-stoppingly close to his mouth. “What if I can’t?”
He
took her hand off his chest, held it in his. It felt nice there. Not as nice as
it had on his chest, but still good. Like he was courting her. Because, damn
it, he was. Even if it killed him.
“So,”
he said brightly, “Bel and James seem to be making good progress. It was a
rocky start but it looks like they’re going to make it after all.”
She
frowned. “Well, I certainly hope so.” But Bob wondered. Was that a trace of
reluctance under her customary briskness?
“You
have doubts?”
“Well,
no. Of course not.” She fluttered an impatient hand. “When Bel finishes up this
last task to my satisfaction I can retire and we can be together. I want her to
succeed more than anybody. You know that.”
Bob gave
her a shrewd look. “Do I? You’ve been testing her mettle for three years now
and don’t look any closer to retirement to me. Anybody else would have told you
to stuff it by now.”
She
drew herself up. “Are we still talking about Bel?” she asked stiffly. “Or has
this conversation taken an ugly and unnecessary turn?”
“But
Bel,” Bob went on patiently as if Kate hadn’t spoken, “she wants this. She
wants it more than anything. It’s all she’s ever known how to want as far as I
can tell. You’ve been hinting at an imminent retirement for three seasons now. It’s
time, Kate. For you to pull it away now?” Bob spread his hands. “It’s
approaching cruel.”
She
lifted one shoulder. “It’s not up to me,” she said. “She either earns it or she
doesn’t.”
Bob gave
her an intimate smile. “Then let’s hope she does.”
“Let’s
do,” Kate said. Her answering smile was warm but not warm enough to hide
something fierce and hunted in her eyes. Bob recognized his cue to back up and
shut up.
“Good
night, Kate.” He forced himself to stroll off into the night as if he had all
the time in the world to wait. As if it didn’t kill him to waste even one night
they could spend together.
Patience,
he told himself. If there was one thing he knew it was that no good ever came
of rushing her. Woe to the guy who backed Kate into a corner.
He
just prayed to God she came around soon. He didn’t know how much more time he
could afford to give her.
Bright
and early the following morning, Bel hung a cork board the approximate size of
a compact car on the kitchen wall. Then she pulled out a well-thumbed stack of
recipe cards and got down to the business of planning a menu that would send every
man, woman and child in attendance at this year’s Fox Hunt Ball into raptures
of culinary delight.
Several
hours later, her corkboard still largely empty, she slapped her hands down on
the countertop and shot to her feet with a muffled noise of frustration.
Bel
believed with an almost religious fervor in the power of persistence. But even she
had to acknowledge that sometimes, particularly when it came to food,
persistence wasn’t enough.
Sometimes
it took magic.
Just
admitting that offended every principle around which Bel had organized her
life, but denying it did no good. The sort of home-run Bel was looking to hit
was going to take more than rigorous practice and attention to detail. It was
going to take magic. Inspiration. A stroke of genius.
None
of which could be forced. Magic had to be invited. Nurtured. Courted. Which
ordinarily she wouldn’t mind. But with only the two measly weeks Kate had
allowed them to pull together the state’s most lavish event of the year, Bel
didn’t have that kind of time.
What
she needed was a trip to the farmers’ market. A stroll down a leafy aisle, the
air rich with the scent of soil and what came out of it. She needed to fill her
hands with round, lush, late-season tomatoes, to pull the tangy scent of them deep
into her lungs. She needed a bag of onions with the dirt still clinging to
them, and maybe a curvy, flirty little squash. A pattypan or something equally
adorable.
She
needed inspiration.
But she’d
settle for James getting his lazy self out of bed so they could at least put
together a game plan. Maybe if she knew what direction he was going with the program,
the magic would get on board.
She
glanced at her watch. Where on earth
was
he? He wasn’t an early riser by
any stretch of the imagination, but in general he could be counted on to have
rolled into the kitchen by
noon
.
She
could go upstairs and wake him. An unwelcome spark shivered through her at the
image that flashed into her head—James tangled up in warm sheets, bare-chested
and sleep-rumpled, his beautiful mouth soft and inviting.
She
sat down at the stool in front of her stacks of rejected recipes with a
deliberate calm. She would rather continue to unsuccessfully force the magic,
she told herself firmly, than successfully wake James. And if a tiny,
rebellious piece of her soul howled a protest, she didn’t flinch. She simply
channeled the energy into righteous indignation.
Because
it wasn’t right that she should sit down here and slave away over work they
should both be doing. It wasn’t right for her to shoulder the entire burden of worry
while he snored away like a Roman soldier after an orgy. It wasn’t right that
he should be able to sleep at all while she scrambled fruitlessly around for a
scrap of
magic
, of all things. Magic was
his
damn department, and
if he couldn’t be bothered to turn up by
noon
—
“Hey,
Bel.” James ambled into the kitchen. He plopped down on the stool next to hers
and gave her a hopeful look. “There wouldn’t happen to be any coffee handy,
would there?”
“There
was three hours ago,” she said coolly, sifting through a pile of recipes she’d
rejected four times already. “I threw it out.”
