Secret Nights at Nine Oaks Page 5

  But here at Nine Oaks, the boundaries were tight, clearly marked. Cain had made that clear from the start. Yet in one instance, she thought, glancing back at the bed, he’d ripped those boundaries apart. Shredded them.

  The situation made her see that Cain was a trapped man. Phoebe didn’t get to where she was as a writer without doing a lot of people watching and dissecting behaviors. Cain was a surly dragon ensnared in a cave. A beast tormented by something. The memory of his late wife? He must have really loved Lily if her death sent him to this seclusion. But Phoebe had a feeling there was more to it than that. Cain never struck her as a man who did anything he didn’t want, and pain and darkness were in his eyes now. He practically oozed with it.

  Deciding she wouldn’t figure out the mystery tonight, Phoebe turned back into the room, then grabbed a book to read. Sleep wouldn’t come for her, she knew. And right now, she was glad.

  She didn’t want Kreeg invading her dreams again.

  Cain sat at his desk, his breakfast tray untouched on the corner. He jotted notes and fielded calls all morning and was starving, but his time was in demand. Working was a good thing since if he had a spare moment, Phoebe leaped into his brain and tormented him.

  He hadn’t managed the latest crisis when someone rapped on the door.

  “Not now, Benson.”

  The door opened anyway.

  “Apparently I wasn’t clear enough.” Not looking up, Cain scribbled notes.

  “Since I’m not Benson that doesn’t apply to me, does it?”

  Something inside him went still as glass. “People do have to work for a living.”

  “Yeah sure, whatever.”

  Finally, he lifted his gaze. He saw the hollowness in her eyes despite how sexy she looked. In curve-hugging cropped jeans and a dainty aqua sleeveless top, she sent the control he’d fought half the night to regain right out the door. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Walking, and now sitting down,” she said as she did, then set a mug of coffee and a toasted bagel on his desk. She gestured to the breakfast tray. “You haven’t eaten?”

  “Obviously not. Phoebe, I’m trying to work.”

  “Take a break. You’ve been in here since five-thirty this morning.”

  If she knew that, then she’d been up all night, too, he thought. Had that kiss haunted her as it had him?

  “Did you ever get back to sleep?” He sure as hell didn’t.

  “No, not really.” But thinking about him meant that Phoebe wasn’t thinking about her own problems. About how she had to testify; how a man she’d dated three times became so obsessed with her that he broke into her car, her house, her bedroom.

  She shook the thought loose, focusing on Cain. “Are you going to spend all day in the office?” She folded her legs into the antique chair, looking right at home.

  “I normally do.”

  “Even in the afternoon, evening? Breakfast?” She pushed the plate toward him, then tore off a piece of her bagel and popped it into her mouth.

  “Often.” Cain snagged a slice of toast from his own tray, biting into it.

  “So, you’re a recluse in your own house.”

  “You’re on my side of it.” He spread jam on the slice, eating that, then picking up his fork and attacking the still-warm eggs.

  “Is there a line?” She looked around at the beautifully carpeted floor. “Be specific, Cain. I thought I had the run of the place.”

  “You do.”

  She simply arched a brow, the bagel poised for a bite. “But not here. In this room.” She munched.

  “I like my privacy to work and you have an entire wing for yourself.”

  She waved as she chewed and swallowed. “Yeah, but the fun stuff happens on your side.”

  Cain couldn’t help but smile. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “You don’t notice much at all, do you?” She finished off her bagel, then sipped her decaf coffee.

  You, he thought, I notice you in every way. Then he said, “Sure I do, I run the place.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ha. Benson runs this house, you run your companies, and I’m betting that they won’t fall apart with one day’s inattention.”

  “On the contrary, my world will crash.” To make his point, the phone rang. He answered it, asking the caller to hold, then looked at her.

  Phoebe sensed he was grateful for the call and stood. “Live for the moment, Cain. Hang up.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Well, I’m going for a ride. Want to come with me?”

  “On a horse?”

  “Unless you have something else to ride.” Instantly Phoebe wished the words back and tried not to blush. “Yes, a horse. Gallop, canter. You know, the four-legged things out there in the stables?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Fine, be the king reigning over the fiefdom. But you owe me a dinner.” She headed to the door.

  “I do?”

  “Yes, and I’ll nag you till you join me like a civilized person.”

  Cain pushed the hold button on the call and went after her. “Phoebe, I’d rather not—”

  “I’m not listening,” she said in a singsong voice, walking toward the front door. She passed Benson saying, “Two for dinner, Benson, make sure he shows up,” then cast a sexy glance at him that rocked him to his heels before she disappeared out the front door.

  Cain stared at the closed door, then looked at Benson standing at the base of the stairs.

  “Persistent young lady,” was all the butler said and marched up the stairs.

  “She’s a damn pest.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Well, she is,” he muttered to himself and turned back to the library. He refused to turn on the cameras on his screens and watch her. He’d let security take care of it instead. If he began checking on her, he’d turn into a crazed voyeur and what did that say about him?

  He suddenly felt like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, watching the world from afar and wishing for more.

  Just as he considered joining her, his gaze landed on the picture of his late wife. Guilt set in instantly, reminding him that he’d ruined her life because he couldn’t love her. He lusted after Phoebe and even if that were satisfied, he’d ruin her, too. He smacked the photo facedown on the desk.

  Yet an hour later, he was walking through the house toward the rear, stepping out on the veranda in time to see Phoebe gallop across the lawn at full speed on his finest mare. Given her personality, he would have expected her to take the stallion, but Mr. Dobbs had more sense than to let her ride the mean-spirited horse.

  She threw her arms out wide, letting go of the reins and riding the chestnut horse with the strength of her knees. He watched her, her laughter pinging through the warm air and sliding over Cain like a cloak. It had been a very long time since a woman had laughed in this house, he thought, then turned away from the sight of her.

  For Cain, the temptation of Phoebe DeLongpree was more than he could handle.

  Cajun music was rocking the kitchen as Phoebe swept the mop over the kitchen floor. Willis was at the long worktable, polishing silver that didn’t need polishing while a male servant ironed napkins and a tablecloth at the other end. She was here because she was already tired of being alone to amuse herself, and Willis was a fun person to be around. He joked easily as he did his work, which in her opinion was busywork. Without guests in the house and few to cook for and look after, the servants were as bored as she was.

  Jean Claude was singing along, sounding rather good as he punched dough for bread.

  “Willis, lift your feet.”

  “Oh yeah sure, like there is an inch that you didn’t already get, Miss Phoebe?”

  “Do a job well and you won’t have to do it twice.”

  “How much caffeine have you had this morning, bébé?” Jean Claude said, chuckling as she rinsed the mop and attacked the floor again.

  Before she could answer, a deep voice cut through the noise like the crack of
lightning. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Phoebe whipped around. Cain loomed in the doorway, and the room instantly quieted. Jean Claude shut off the radio.

  Oh hell. He looks furious, she thought, not willing to bow to his bluster. “You’re smart, figure it out,” she said and heard several indrawn breaths.

  “You’re mopping the floor?” he said, louder than necessary.

  “See, I knew you were smart.”

  “Put that mop down and let the servants do their jobs, Phoebe.”

  Phoebe glanced around at the stoic faces, then leaned the mop against the counter and marched right up to Cain. “Excuse me?”

  “I said—”

  “I heard you. Are you giving me orders, Cain Blackmon?”

  “I’m warning you not to bother my employees in their jobs.”

  “Or else? Or you’ll what? Toss me out? Be grouchier than you already are?” She poked at his chest as she spoke. “Well, let me tell you, Augustus Cain Blackmon the fourth, I don’t take kindly to you growling at me.” The more she poked, the farther Cain stepped back out of the kitchen. “You can hand that ogre-in-the-castle stuff to everyone else, but not me. Got that?”

  “You’re interfering with the workings of this house!”

  “Really, show me then?” She gestured around herself. “There is nothing to do. You don’t use most of the house. The flowers are in bloom in the solarium, did you know that? The furniture in there still has the packaging from the store on it. Heck, there’s enough groceries in that kitchen to feed a battalion of Marines, and enough rooms in here to house them all. But it’s just you, Cain, no one else. It’s a waste. All these people around for your beck and call? Honestly, fend for yourself once and—”

  “And you’re changing the subject,” he butted in.

  She looked away, then back and muttered, “Yeah well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  Cain stared down at her, liking the spark of anger in her eyes. She wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him when most people ran for cover. Part of him wondered if he was just looking for an excuse to growl when she was having a good time with the servants because Lily barely spoke to them except to give orders. Comparing the women made him angry again, and as if she could tell, she backed up.

  “Regardless of what is used or wasted, it’s my decision and I’m asking you to leave them to their jobs.”

  “No.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

  Hers narrowed right back. “They’re my friends and I won’t stop speaking to them because you demand it. And because they are all working like nuts for you, the only time I can is while they are at their jobs. So no. I won’t leave them be.”

  Cain gritted his teeth, wanting to shake her. Or kiss her.

  And when she spoke, her voice was lower, softer. “Your staff are grateful for the jobs, but I don’t think they like you very much. Do you want to live like that? Intimidating everyone?”

  No, he didn’t. It was five years of loneliness that made him feel so on edge. Or was it just that she was near, tempting him? “Except you?”

  “I don’t have a stake in ticking you off. They do.” She gazed up into his dark eyes. “Life would be more pleasant around here if you didn’t snap at everyone. These people practically fear you!”

  He arched a brow, a look that said it wasn’t a concern.

  Her gaze thinned.

  Cain felt inspected and found lacking.

  “I don’t like you right now.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not at all.” She marched back into the kitchen, apologizing to the staff for his behavior, then walked past him without a glance and down the long hall.

  “Phoebe,” he called.

  She just put her hand up behind her head, waved him off and kept going. When she was out of sight, Cain stared at the floor, his polished shoes, the pristine floor, then lifted his gaze to the immaculate house—not a speck of dust, not a thing out of its precise place.

  He almost, in that moment, wished for messy, for lived-in, for the sound of voices and laughter he’d heard just moments ago. She was right, it was as if no one lived here. Like a museum of fine things no one appreciated. Or used.

  Cain pushed his fingers through his hair and let out a long-suffering sigh. He stepped into the kitchen, apologized, then went to his office, suddenly hating the four walls and himself.

  That evening, Cain sat at the table in the formal dining room, waiting.

  She didn’t arrive.

  But Benson did.

  “Well? She demanded this meal with me, where is she?”

  Benson cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Miss Phoebe has decided to dine in her room, sir.”

  Cain hated the pity in Benson’s eyes, though he’d never let it show in his face.

  “She did have a message for you.”

  “I’ll bet. Well, what is it?”

  “She agrees to stay on her side of the house, sir. With pleasure.”

  Cain’s features pulled taut. He stood, leaving the aromatic meal behind and headed back to his office.

  He didn’t make it, glancing up the staircase and shaking his head. The woman wasn’t even around and she was turning him inside out.

  “Shall I bring your dinner into the office, sir,” Benson said.

  “No, thank you.”

  Cain started to walk away, then said, “Wait, I’ll take that.” Cain gathered the plate, napkin and utensils from the tray Benson held.

  “Sir?”

  “Go relax, Benson. Take a break.” The butler’s brows shot up. “I’m fine,” Cain assured him, suddenly realizing that he let Benson cater to him and had gotten too used to the fact. But then, Benson was his only company.

  Cain walked to the solarium, stepped inside, then set the plate down before he stripped the plastic off the new furniture.

  He sat at the little bistro table in the corner, his feet propped on another chair, eating alone, staring at the abundance of color bursting in the sunny room. The paddle fan overhead moved the sweet fragrances around him.

  This was his mother’s favorite room. She swore to all, she’d married his father just so she could enjoy it. And halfway through his dinner, Cain faced the fact that Phoebe was right. Damn it. He hadn’t enjoyed his own house. Even after he’d spent a fortune restoring it.

  Good God. There would be no living with her now.

  That was if she decided to speak with him again.

  Five

  Cain pulled at the sash to his robe and paused at the top of the staircase, looking toward the opposite wing, knowing Phoebe was there somewhere down that long hall.

  He hadn’t seen her in two days. Good to her word, she’d kept to the east wing. Once in awhile he’d hear her voice, drawn by it, but when he looked, she was gone, off doing God knew what, far from him.

  She was like a mystical being, darting off into the forest when the evil human came near.

  It made his isolation feel more pronounced than it was before she arrived. It shouldn’t matter, he told himself, but he didn’t like knowing that she was mad at him.

  Nor did he like how he’d treated her. He wanted to apologize, but seeking her was out of the question. Alone with Phoebe was not a good thing.

  Especially at night.

  He descended the stairs, intent on the kitchen and something to quiet the growling in his stomach and perhaps make him sleep. Her insomnia was catching, he thought. He knew of it because Benson reported that she prowled the house at odd hours or that the lights were on in her suite nearly constantly.

  Cain wondered if he was here because he hoped to run into her. And what kept her from sleeping? Her attacker was in jail, and the trial was set for a couple of weeks from now. Was she still afraid? She’d nothing to fear here at Nine Oaks, that was for certain.

  He stepped into the kitchen, reaching for the switch when he saw a figure sitting on the worktable. The light over the range glowed enough for him to re
cognize her. She looked over her shoulder toward him, but he couldn’t see her face. Then she turned away quickly and Cain could swear she was wiping at her eyes.

  “Phoebe, are you okay?”

  If okay meant being woken by nightmares, Phoebe thought. She was actually relieved he’d interrupted her. The pity party was getting really pathetic. “Sure I am. Come in, I won’t bite.”

  “Just as well, I’m in no mood to battle.”

  “Like that would matter to me?”

  Cain smirked to himself and moved into the kitchen, flipping on another light.

  She immediately closed her robe a little tighter, suddenly aware they were both in pajamas.

  He looked at her snack selection. “Ice cream? At this hour?”

  “Anytime is good for Rocky Road.” She shoved a scoop into her mouth and smiled hugely.

  He sensed it was forced, noticing the redness in her eyes, but he didn’t pry. He opened the refrigerator, staring into it, then gathered the makings of a sandwich and set it on the worktable near her. He went for bread and a cutting board and then started slicing.

  “Benson said you’ve been up late a lot. Do you even try to sleep?” he asked.

  She dug into the tub of ice cream. “Sure. Count sheep, imagine a white room, clear my thoughts with meditation. Nothing works. Drugs are just too easy to get dependent on.”

  “You keep thinking of him, don’t you?”

  Her head snapped up, her expression sharp. “Yeah, some.” She deflated, like a barrier sliding away. “Rational thought tells me he’s locked up, but I can’t help the feeling that—” her shoulders moved restlessly “—that he’s behind me, watching.”