The Billionaire's Con (6 page)

“Oh, the man’s a goner,” Cara predicted. “What guy wouldn’t be seduced by floor seats at the Garden?”

“Who said anything about seducing him?” she protested.

“You did.” All three sisters spoke as one.

“I did not! Considering ripping his clothes off was a healthy sexual fantasy, not a blueprint for seduction.”

“Semantics,” Erin quipped over her shoulder, proving she was capable of following more than one conversation at a time. “Love you, baby.” She snapped the phone closed. “The tickets are yours if you want them.”

Cara studied Meggy’s stubborn face. “From the way he was looking at you when you grabbed him, I’d say those tickets will just be overkill.”

Erin snickered, and Cara and Shan grinned.

But Meggy just sighed. “I can’t believe I’m admitting this to you three busybodies, but I like him. I’m not saying I wouldn’t like him naked too.” She smiled widely. “But I like him, that’s all.” She ended with a shrug.

“So what’s the problem?” Cara laid a hand on her arm.

“There’s no problem. Not really. It’s just that...” Reluctant confusion filled her. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s just that he’s not like any other man I’ve ever met. I think I could
really
like him with a little time, and that scares the crap out of me.”

“Suck it up, Calhoun.” Cara squeezed her arm and let go. She smiled at her frown. “So you like the guy. If it turns out he’s the one for you, there isn’t anything you can do about it anyway. You’re already a goner.” She wrapped an arm around Meggy’s shoulders, bumped their hips together and grinned. “Spend some time with him. Get to know him. Better yet, seduce him with the Celtics tickets. You know you want to.”

Her smile was slow and thoughtful. The basketball game
would
be a nice diversion, but she didn’t need floor seats to seduce Trevor Bryce. That was something she could do all on her own. And, she thought, she might decide to do just that.

Chapter Seven

By midday Monday, Trevor had to admit there was a good chance he’d been wrong about Meggy Calhoun. The question of whether or not Ashford blood ran through her veins remained, and what she’d been doing at the farm was still a mystery, but he no longer believed her capable of running a con.

With each passing hour, it had become increasingly more difficult to equate the bright, compassionate, quirky woman running the Palmer House kitchen with the money-hungry con artist he’d expected to find when he’d come to town. He’d had no trouble finding locals willing to speak with him about the town and Meggy. Over at the Bluebell Diner, the apparent headquarters for the town grapevine Meggy and Jill had mentioned, gossip was a side dish, served along with the home cooking coming out of the busy kitchen. He’d been back several times for more of both.

On each subsequent visit, he’d been barraged by locals competing to answer his questions. By all accounts, Meggy Calhoun was a pit bull when she put her mind to something, but she wasn’t devious. You knew where you stood with the tiny powerhouse, they all insisted, and despite her straightforwardness, or perhaps because of it, the townspeople tended to like her.

Among other things, he’d learned that she and Cara had been inseparable friends since grade school. After witnessing the easy friendship between the two women, he’d already been forced to discard the idea of the Finnegans being a target of any con she might be pulling.

The possibility of her being partners in crime with the big, blonde bruiser was a dead end as well. According to the report he’d received, Justin Cooper was one of Boston’s finest and, by all indications, he was a clean cop.

In truth, nothing he’d seen or learned about her since coming to town indicated Meggy was capable of what he’d been accusing her of in his mind. In fact, just the opposite seemed true. She appeared to be an open, loving, loyal woman, feverishly content with the life she’d carved out for herself.

The question of whether or not she had been adopted by the Calhouns still hadn’t been answered. He was tempted to ask her outright, but the tiny seed of doubt that still lingered in his mind had him holding back. His investigator was still digging, and just in case he was totally misreading the situation, because his gonads were clouding his judgment, he’d wait.

Kissing her had been a mistake.

The tangy sweetness of her mouth had haunted him for days. He’d never let lust interfere with a project before, and he couldn’t afford to do so now. His grandmother was relying on him. He wouldn’t see her hurt, not by anyone.

So where exactly did that leave him? It all kept coming back to her showing up on Martha’s Vineyard only to turn around and walk away again. Nearly two weeks later, she hadn’t returned to the farm and hadn’t made any kind of claim.

And yet, her resemblance to Anne was undeniable. The pictures he’d seen of Anne in her early twenties could have been taken of Meggy this morning. They said everyone had a twin. Could it be just an incredible coincidence after all?

He sprawled back in the oversized chair, and turned his head to glance through the window at Palmer House. Whatever the truth, things were going to get dicey when his true identity was revealed. And it would be soon. Elizabeth’s insistence on meeting Meggy at the end of his three weeks would see to that. Even if this situation turned out to be one big coincidence, the damage would be done, and tonight’s
date
with the pixie chef was only going to complicate matters.

He’d been surprised when Meggy knocked on his door Saturday afternoon, dressed in her chef’s garb, ready for the night ahead. Her smile uncharacteristically shy, she stood shivering in the wind beyond the threshold. No time to come in, she insisted. She’d just dropped by to say she had tickets for Monday night’s Celtics game, and would he like to join her?

He should have declined. That would have been the smart thing to do, the honorable thing. The situation was already complicated enough without adding a romantic tangle to the mix, but he hadn’t wanted to say no, damn it.

The truth was he wanted the little fairy with her expressive face and trim little body, and he wasn’t accustomed to denying himself a woman he wanted. Besides, she’d used the perfect bait with those Celtics tickets. How was a man supposed to resist that kind of double temptation?

As if his musings had summoned her, he heard the tap on the door and rose to answer. She hadn’t dressed to dazzle him, yet the faded jeans and oversized, soft, green sweater were still sexy as hell as far as he was concerned. As was the fairy smile lighting her face like a ray of sunshine. There was no denying the sharp pull of desire in his loins, and with an inward shrug, he accepted it was going to be a long night.

“Hi,” she greeted softly.

“Hi, yourself.” He returned her smile.

“Are you ready for a night of fun and basketball?”

“Are the two mutually exclusive?” His remark was rewarded when she laughed.

“You’re a Celts fan?”

“I don’t quite qualify for rabid status, but it’s a close thing.”

“A man after my own heart.” She batted her eyes with an exaggerated sigh.

He couldn’t resist, didn’t want to. Cupping her chin in his hand, he lifted her face and bent until his mouth covered hers. Her lips were soft beneath his and accepting of his caress as he tasted her briefly before lifting his head and stepping back. Enormously pleased at the glazed look in her eyes, he left her standing at the door and crossed the room to grab his keys.

“Ready?” He stopped in front of her and could only grin when she blinked up at him, mumbled something about secret weapons, and spun on her heel to lead him out to the parking lot.

****

Meggy had made reservations at a little Italian place in the North End of Boston, within walking distance of the Boston Garden. Linking her arm through Trevor’s, they strolled the cobbled bricks of Boston’s oldest neighborhood.

The narrow streets were teaming with pedestrian traffic as the city's workforce called it a day, swarming the dining district for an early dinner before heading home or to the game. It amused her to see the many female glances aimed Trevor’s way because really, she couldn’t blame the women for looking.

His dark auburn hair gleamed like a thick pelt in the fading afternoon light, and his swarthy skin gave him a healthy glow. Understated wealth oozed from every pore of his lanky body, which showcased the natural-colored, Irish woolen sweater and faded jeans as perfectly as it had the expensive business-suit.

The man was a clotheshorse, she thought with a grin. Even his play clothes looked as if they’d been tailored to fit him to perfection. Not that she was complaining. When he’d opened the carriage house door at her knock, she’d had to fight back the urge to lick her lips and jump him. She’d settled for a sigh, a silent one, or so she’d thought. Had he heard the yearning in that breathy little huff? Had that been the reason he’d grabbed her and without a word, kissed her senseless?

The knowing humor in his pale eyes when he finally set her back on her feet told her he’d had a fairly good idea of the direction in which her mind had wandered. His cocky smile confirmed it. Oh, yeah, Trevor Bryce was dangerous.

They were seated immediately at a booth near the window, and when the waiter came for their orders, she suggested the manicotti. The busy, family-owned restaurant was one of her favorites and had the best manicotti west of Italy, she promised.

He bowed to her expertise, and when he groaned in appreciation at his first bite, her smile was smug. “You’re a regular here?” Trevor’s fork stilled before he dived into his dessert.

“I’m a regular wherever there’s delicious food
I
don’t have to cook.” She grinned. “I haunt several spots around the North End. I’ve stolen some of my favorite recipes within a half mile of here.”

“Meggy Calhoun, culinary crook.”

Well, look at him. He’s even sexy when he teases.
Delighted at the description, she laughed. “You could call it that, but I only keep the recipes for my personal use. I work too hard on my own to take credit for someone else’s.”

“You love being a chef.” It was a statement more than a question.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“You never wanted to do anything else?”

“Not for as long as I can remember.” She cocked her head. “Unless you count the few minutes I considered joining the circus when I was nine. I was dazzled by a lady juggler in a sequined body-suit.” Crinkles appeared at the corners of his pale eyes when he grinned, and she thought the laugh lines only made him more appealing. “It took me less than five minutes to decide that getting to wear one of those fantastic, sparkly costumes wouldn’t be worth putting up with the smell of the elephants.”

“I don’t know,” his voice dropped to a rumbling drawl. “I think it would be worth holding my breath for a while for the chance to see you in a sequined body-costume.”

A tiny shiver of pleasure raced through her system at his words and tone. “Well, you’re out of luck,” she said cheekily. “Turns out I can’t juggle.”

“Isn’t that always the way?” He shook his head with mock disappointment.

“What about you?” She propped her elbows on the table, studying him. “What did you want to be when you were growing up?”

“I always knew I would go into the family business. Finance, real estate, but I did have a secret dream of being a pirate for a while.”

“A pirate?” She laughed. “What century were you born in?”

The grin he shot her was wide. “Hey, I was six, and my father had just taken me to see the tall ships.”

“Well, then, that’s okay. Cara and I came into town a couple of years ago when the tall ships were in the harbor. They’re pretty impressive.”

“They’re even more impressive from on board.” He stopped eating for a minute, his eyes taking on a dreamy quality. “I had the opportunity to sail on one a couple of years later during the parade of ships around New York Harbor.” Dark brows waggled, and leaning in, he curved his lips in a buccaneer’s leer. “A pirate’s dream come true.”

“Wow.” She blinked with exaggerated innocence. “Or should I say, ‘Aaargh’?” That warm and mushy sensation returned to her belly when he threw back his head on a laugh. “So, what happened to the dream? Why didn’t you go to sea and become the scourge of the Atlantic?”

He sat back, his smile wry. “Seasickness.”

Her eyes widened. “You got seasick on a tall ship?”

“No, I did fine there. A deep sea fishing adventure with twenty foot swells killed my desire for a seafaring life. I love to sail, though. In fact, I have my own cruiser. I just don’t get out on the water as much as I’d like these days.”

Their waiter stopped at the table to ask if they needed anything else. Alone once again, he touched the tip of her finger with his, sending her hormonal system into overload. “Have you always lived in Palmerton?”

She nodded. “Except for the year and a half I studied in Paris. My parents were both born in Palmerton. They moved to Maine when they retired.” She smiled happily. “My dad was a teacher, and my mom worked at the nursery on the edge of town. You should talk to them. They could help you with your research.”

****

He planned to. There were a number of questions he’d like to put to Bob and Carol Calhoun, not the least of which being whether or not Meggy was their natural child. “You’re close to them?”

She looked at him strangely, as if the question made no sense.