Secret Nights at Nine Oaks Page 3

  “This is for Cain, right?” she said, scoping out the coffee service.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She snatched the pad and pencil from the breast pocket of his jacket, and scribbled a note, then stuffed it under the saucer. Willis, blond and young, gave the plate a skeptical look.

  If that won’t get a rise out of Cain, nothing will, she thought, then winked at Willis before heading toward the heavenly scent of freshly baked bread.

  Benson appeared out of nowhere. “Miss Phoebe, dinner is served.” He gestured toward the formal dining room.

  “Oh, great.” She was looking forward to tasting one of Jean Claude’s creations. She followed Benson into the dining room, its vivid red walls and white trim giving a casual feel to the austere surroundings. The older man pulled out her chair and when she sat, he lifted silver domes off the plates. Her mouth watered as the glorious scents of lemon, chicken and delicate vegetables wafted up to greet her.

  She tipped in her chair, looking around. “Cain isn’t joining me?”

  “No, miss.”

  “Well, that stinks,” she muttered under her breath.

  Benson poured her some wine and offered her napkin, then said, “Enjoy,” before he left her alone.

  Phoebe stared at the wide empty room. “Hello, hello, hello,” she said like an echo. She hated eating alone. It was boring and she always ate too fast. She felt a bit insulted that Cain couldn’t be bothered to join her. She’d practically invited him to, in his own house no less.

  Gathering her plate and utensils in the napkin, she walked to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway, and taking in the small bit of chaos. The Nine Oaks’ kitchen had been modernized and she didn’t know what half the appliances were used for, but then, a microwave was her best friend lately.

  Around the edge of the granite counter, a few of the staff sat, eating dinner and watching the TV. She recognized Jean Claude, Willis and Mr. Dobbs, who handled the dogs and cared for the stables. The two others she hadn’t met yet, but from the looks of their clothing, they worked on the grounds.

  “Oh, I could just live at your feet, Jean Claude,” she said, inhaling deeply. “You could just throw me some scraps and I’d be grateful.”

  Jean Claude glanced her way as he pulled a flat wooden paddle filled with steaming loaves of bread out of the stone oven. “Well, where y’ at, Miss Phoebe?” His smile was big and bright.

  “I’m just fine, Jean Claude. Do y’all mind if I join you?” She nodded toward the counter. “It’s dull eating with a flower arrangement for company.”

  “Yes, of course,” the group said, and Willis hopped up to get her plate and make a spot for her.

  She slid onto a stool at the granite counter.

  “I was glad to hear you were coming for a visit, Miss Phoebe,” Jean Claude said.

  “Shocked you, I’ll bet,” she said, cutting her chicken. It was stuffed with crabmeat and shrimp and she was practically drooling over it before the first bite made it to her mouth.

  His lips curved. “Yes’m, it did.”

  Jean Claude was raised in New Orleans, Cajun to the bone, tall, slim and handsome at nearly sixty. There was something terribly sexy about a man who could cook, and Jean Claude was the best chef in five counties.

  “Suzannah invited me. I think she blackmailed Cain, though.”

  “Miss ’Zannah is a strong woman, that I’ll say.”

  “I’d say pushy.”

  “More than you?”

  She smiled. “She runs a close second.” She gave him her best begging-to-try-it look. “You going to share some of that?” She eyed the fresh bread.

  “What? You don’t like my dinner?” He nodded toward the plate.

  “It’s great, but your bread, well…it’s a spiritual thing.”

  Grinning, Jean Claude cut her a slice, slathering it with butter.

  “Bless you, I was so prepared to grovel,” she said, then sank her teeth into the warm bread and swore she’d just tripped into food heaven. The flavors of herbs and butter exploded in her mouth. “Divine, Jean Claude.”

  He flashed her a smooth smile, slicing and packaging up the remaining loaves as he introduced her to the others having dinner. The TV droned softly.

  After a few minutes, the conversation grew lively as Jean Claude told stories of some of Phoebe and Suzannah’s college antics. “I come down here, and they had the freezer wide open, and the two of them were sitting on the floor, eating ice cream. Just a spoonful here and there, mind you, but from every bucket I had.” Jean Claude tsked and winked at her.

  “We were bonding over both getting Ds on history term papers. But I paid for that ice cream with a stomachache for two days. But poor ’Zannah, she felt the need to go jogging.” The group groaned, imagining the damage. “It wasn’t pretty,” Phoebe said.

  “You would have been better served to study harder,” Jean Claude said.

  “Oh yeah, sure, but then, that would have been sensible.”

  “Did you pass the course?” a voice said from the doorway, and they all looked up.

  Cain was leaning against the door frame and the room grew noticeably quiet. When Willis made to leave, Phoebe subtly put her hand on his arm, keeping him still. How long had he been standing there?

  She tipped her chin up. “Yes I did. I didn’t have much else to do but study for the exam with a stomachache. Your sister, however, didn’t make higher than a C on the final.”

  “Tattletale,” Cain said, amused.

  “What are friends for?” She grinned hugely, then said, “You going to stand there or come join us?”

  Cain recognized the challenge in her eyes. Everyone stared and waited. Never taking his gaze off her, he pushed off the door frame and came into the kitchen. Her triumphant smile was damned annoying.

  “Sir, would you like your dinner now?” Jean Claude said.

  “Sure he would,” Phoebe said, nudging out a stool, and Cain hesitated before he sat beside her.

  Jean Claude looked at him, waiting, and Cain nodded, too interested in feeling the heat of Phoebe’s body, in smelling her perfume. It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating. Dressed in a short denim skirt and a red top that scooped low enough to show come great cleavage, she looked fresh and incredibly desirable. But then, all Phoebe had to do was walk into a room and he was pretty much sunk.

  Her note under the coffee service tray hadn’t pulled him from his office, though her scribbled words “Come out and play with me” were evocative enough to give him daydreams for the rest of his life.

  But he’d been drawn by the noise, the laughter that echoed down the hall. It had been a very long time since he’d heard that. He’d stood at the door for a couple of minutes, watching as Phoebe pulled everyone into the conversation, turning the focus off her and onto the men. She talked easily, smiled often, and looked right at home. But then she was the highlight of the house. Aside from his sister, there hadn’t been a woman at Nine Oaks in five years. Cain’s thoughts shifted to Lily and he instantly derailed them, unwilling to ruin his dinner.

  Jean Claude served up a plate of dinner and Cain ate, listening as Phoebe told a joke. Laughing with them, one of the men said goodbye, and left.

  “I saw you diving, Miss Phoebe,” Willis said and Cain shot Phoebe a covert look. “You’re very good. That jackknife was something else.”

  “Thank you, Willis.”

  For one pointed moment, she looked directly at Cain as if to say, “see, I told you so.” But all Cain had on his mind was the sexy image of her prancing out of his office with her bare behind jiggling. He’d tried all day to banish that picture and failed. He sure as hell didn’t need another reminder. His body wanted this woman. It damn near screamed when he was near her. And sitting beside her, feeling her arm brush his, was enough to shoot another wave of heat through his bloodstream. He was glad there were people around; he couldn’t trust himself alone with her.

  “I was on a team in college,” Phoebe said. “Heck, I was
on three. Track, 500-meter relay swimming, diving.” She looked at the young man. “I’ve always been wound a little too tight.”

  “Well, there’s a news flash,” Cain said dryly, eating.

  “No. Really?” Jean Claude put in and she laughed. “I’m surprised that you can sit still long enough to write.”

  She looked up, chewed, then swallowed. “You know?”

  “We read the papers, bébé,” Jean Claude said.

  Cain felt a surge go through her, saw her shoulders go taut. He’d never seen her tense up so fast. And though he didn’t know the details of the incident with Randall Kreeg, he decided it was time he found out more.

  Phoebe glanced around at the group, flushing with embarrassment. “Yes, well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag about that.”

  The sudden silence was interrupted by the TV and a news flash. Cain heard her name and looked up.

  The broadcast recapped the arrest and incarceration of Kreeg and mentioned speculation that Phoebe or the last producer who’d bought her script had staged the incident. He looked at Phoebe. She was frozen, her attention riveted to the TV. He called to her, but she didn’t respond.

  All Phoebe saw was Kreeg, looking rich, handsome and so damn supreme as the police escorted him into the station. A wave of memories hit her, blanketing her thoughts, bringing back the terror of realizing that Kreeg had touched her things, had been in her car. Then in her house.

  Her breathing quickened.

  Beside her, Cain frowned, noticing her hands shake.

  “Phoebe?” Cain called again.

  She lifted her gaze to his and the scared look in her eyes fractured his heart.

  And made it bleed.

  Three

  Cain laid his hand on her arm and she flinched, trembling, her gaze shooting around the room, panicked as if searching for an escape.

  His features tightened, then he leaned closer, sliding his hand farther up her arm and whispering, “It’s okay, darlin’, you’re safe here. I swear it.”

  Phoebe blinked, then let out a long, shaky breath, and looked at him. Her eyes were owlish wide, as if replaying the last seconds in her mind, and she looked so frail and small that Cain fought the urge to take her in his arms. Then just as quickly as it came, her fear vanished and her shoulders relaxed.

  “Well, don’t I feel stupid,” she muttered, her cheeks pinkening.

  Cain rubbed her arm. “It’s all right.” For a second she gripped his hand, holding his gaze, then suddenly self-conscious of their nearness, she let go and looked at the others.

  “I know he’s in jail, but…”

  Jean Claude’s expression fell. “Forgive me, Miss Phoebe.” He shut off the TV.

  Her gaze jerked to the chef’s. “Oh Jean Claude, it’s not your fault. Not at all.” She waved, all bright smiles. “It’s just me being a little neurotic.” She released an uneasy laugh, then picked up her fork, spearing a piece of chicken.

  Cain frowned. He’d never seen anyone so upset one minute, then fine the next. Or was she just smothering her anxiety for their sake? And what the hell did that bastard do to her to make her so afraid still?

  “He can’t hurt you here,” Cain assured. “No one will.”

  “It’s why I’m here.” Phoebe shifted her gaze to his, smiling.

  But Cain could tell it was forced, could see the shadows in her eyes. And right now, he wanted only to take up arms and battle her demons for her. It startled him, reminded him that it was wiser to stay clear of her. Cain didn’t deserve to be around a woman like her.

  Yet he stayed where he was, unable to leave.

  Jean Claude went to put the loaves of bread in the pantry, and the rest of the staff departed quickly.

  She looked around. “Well, I sure know how to clear a room, huh?”

  “Not really. They’re unaccustomed to dining with me,” he confessed. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah sure, just great,” she said cheerily, and started clearing dishes, not wanting to answer the questions she could see in his eyes. She’d been there too many times, with friends, the police, her parents. In her dreams. The fact that Kreeg could post any bail that was set and walk free never left her thoughts.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Cain warned, nodding toward the dishes. “You tread on sacred ground by invading his kitchen.” To prove him right, Jean Claude had a fit when he came back and in thickly accented Cajun, he shooed them both out.

  Cain was already at the door. “See, told you.”

  She mimicked him, making a face, then thanked Jean Claude and left the kitchen.

  Cain was several steps ahead of her, and at the foyer, she stopped, realizing he’d just dismissed her from his mind. He confirmed it when he entered the library and closed the door. The sound echoed up the hall, and Phoebe wondered when he’d grown so unfeeling, then rethought that, recalling his comforting touch in the kitchen. She could still feel the warmth of his hand on her skin. But it felt as if he were running from her now.

  What was it about her that made him so standoffish and cold? Their one moment of past history? Or was it something else? And what really made him retreat into Nine Oaks and never leave?

  Back at his desk, Cain focused on work, making calls to his plant and crop operations managers and reading over a half-dozen status reports. Anything to keep his thoughts focused when they were easily distracted. With Phoebe. Knowing she was somewhere near.

  Roaming. Being Phoebe. Driving him nuts.

  Leaving his chair, he moved to the shelves of books and selected a ledger from last year. His gaze caught on a drawer he knew housed racks of DVDs and he opened it, scanning them for one film he knew P.A. DeLong had written. He popped it into the player, saw her pen name on the credits and kept watching.

  A half hour later, he was in a chair, involved in the paranormal plot so twisted and tense, he gripped the armrests. He glanced at the clock, then shut it off, yet stared at the blank screen for a moment, thinking that maybe someone in Hollywood had put the word out that her assault was staged. Just the rumor would have been publicity enough. Or had Kreeg’s lawyers done that? Phoebe’s pseudonym suggested she didn’t want to be known for her controversial work. She liked hiding behind it. The thought brought a smile as he returned to his desk.

  But concentration eluded him. Was this to be the pattern of the next couple of weeks? He’d be bankrupt if he wasn’t careful, he thought, shaking his head and plowing into work.

  Sometime later, the intercom buzzed. “Sir?” Benson said. “Miss DeLongpree is outside.”

  Benson sounded a little tense, and Cain frowned, tapping the button. “She has free rein of the place, Benson.”

  “But it’s dusk, sir. The dogs are out.”

  Cain cursed, leaving his chair, then flung open the French doors to the library and raced out onto the stone veranda. His gaze shot around the landscape.

  The Dobermans were running across the side lawn at top speed with teeth bared. His attention shifted to the figure a good distance away and to his left.

  He called her name, and Phoebe turned, waving. Cain ran, pushing himself faster, knowing if he didn’t outdistance the dogs, the animals bred for defense would tear her to shreds.

  “Phoebe, the dogs!”

  She looked at the dogs running toward her and froze. Horror rocketed through him as the Dobermans leaped at her. They knocked her to the ground, pinning her.

  Cain commanded the animals, but they merely hesitated, and sliding to his knees, he yanked at the dog’s collars.

  Then he heard Phoebe laugh and focused.

  The dogs weren’t attacking. They were licking her face.

  She giggled. “All right, guys, you weigh a ton, back off.” Still the dogs nuzzled her, tails wagging like whips in the air.

  This time, Cain shouted a command at the dogs, and the pair of black Dobermans jumped back and sat still.

  Instantly, he ran his hands over her damp face, shoulders, her bare legs.

  “You�
��re trying to use this as an excuse to feel me up, right?”

  Braced over her, he ignored her teasing, then demanded, “They didn’t bite you?”

  “No. They were greeting me.”

  “Greeting!” he roared.

  “Yeah. That and they wanted these.” She held up her hand, filled with half-crushed dog biscuits. “Scooby snacks,” she said, grinning.

  Cain fell back on his haunches and scraped a hand through his hair. The second he caught his breath, he tore into her. “How could you be so damn stupid!”

  She hitched up on her elbows. “I beg your pardon?”

  “They could have torn you to pieces! They could have killed you!”

  “If I ran, sure, which is why I didn’t.” She frowned at him. He was breathing hard and looking as if he’d like to chew her to shreds. “You forgot that Suzannah and I slept with these dogs when they were puppies. They remembered me.”

  “It’s been a very long time, Phoebe,” he said, pulling her off the ground as he stood. He grasped her shoulders and for a moment he simply stared down at her. She could have been mauled, echoed through his mind and somewhere in his chest, muscles clenched. He’d rather die than see her hurt, and without his will, his gaze lowered to her mouth. Ripe and painted rose-pink.

  Tempting him.

  She met his gaze and his pulse pounded. The woman had too much control over him. She made him feel like a feral animal too long in the wild and a deep, troubling hunger lanced through him, the pressure of it settling hotly in his groin. It clamored for satisfaction, for release. For her. Yet he knew without being inside her, without having tasted more than her mouth, that it wouldn’t be enough. He’d never wanted a woman more.

  He knew that nine years ago, and the instant she stepped into his domain again. Then she tipped her head back, her gaze locking with his and Cain felt himself sinking. He bent, his mouth nearing hers. They were a breath away when the impact of what he was doing hit him.

  Cain let her go and stepped back. “You took a big chance that they’d remember you.”

  Phoebe frowned, wondering what made him stop when she wanted him to kiss her. And he wanted to do it. It was unfair, teasing her like that. “No, I didn’t.” She opened her palm. “These were their favorites. When ’Zannah told me the dogs were still here, I brought them with me. And I already visited them in the kennels after my swim.”