Mystery Date. Crystal GreenЧитать онлайн книгу.
was and would be the perfect child in the eyes of their parents.
Beth was waiting for her at the end of the hallway, which featured a huge circular stained-glass window. She had a concerned look on her face as she watched Leigh, probably wondering if she was so thrown off-balance by this setup that she was about to flee.
But Leigh merely gave her a grin, then kept walking toward the window, which depicted a blue rose surrounded by white panels that resembled shards of ice.
As she surveyed its beauty, she said, “It’s too bad you don’t actually live here, Mystery Man. The furnishings might’ve told me something about you.”
A drawn-out pause made her chest beat with an anxious rhythm. Was he thinking about telling her his name?
When his voice came back on the line, it was warmer, as if he did know her beyond a superficial biography.
“You can call me Callum,” he said. “That should do for now.”
Callum. Now it was easier to picture a face—a dark-haired man with wild locks and eyes as blue as the stained-glass rose. A guy who belonged in a Gothic mansion—one who matched this voice.
She went stiff between her legs, her pulse throbbing there. She was truly into this game now, and wondering what the night would bring only pumped her up more.
Beth had been staring at the blue rose, as if she felt uncomfortable being a part of this private discussion between her friend and her fellow sorority sister.
But all Leigh could think was Callum. Even if the name he’d given her was fake—which it probably was—she was genuinely hoping the rest of the date could begin now.
She took the phone from Beth, smiling at her with another clear message.
I can take it from here.
Beth didn’t show any emotion, just gave a polite smile and left Leigh alone with her Mystery Man.
When Beth had gone down the stairs, the front door shutting behind her, Leigh finally spoke.
“Callum,” she said, “can I start cooking now?”
* * *
ADAM DIDN’T GO near Leigh until she told him she was ensconced in the kitchen.
He was fairly certain she had no idea that he was nearby, in a darkened alcove that overlooked the cooking area from above. He wondered if she would be freaked out to realize he was within such close proximity of her...or if she would be just as stimulated as he was by this next move in the game that had started with her auction basket.
She had propped the disposable phone on a stand that had been waiting on one of the marble counters along with the high-end cooking accessories he’d had delivered. When Beth had arranged the date, Adam had insisted on stocking up on supplies instead of having Leigh do it, and he hoped he’d gotten everything she needed.
It looked as if he’d done well, though. She was smiling as she inspected the dry ingredients while standing at the kitchen island under the pots and pans hanging above it.
The auction basket stood in the center of the island. Even so, everything seemed to revolve around Leigh, not the basket. She was more beautiful than she was on TV, her blond hair shiny and long as it trailed down her back, pinned away from her face with a simple barrette she’d pulled from her jeans pocket. And dressed in those sexy country clothes, she had his imagination running on all cylinders, pushing steam through him until he felt ready to burst in several key places.
But tonight didn’t feel like a tawdry encounter. It felt good just to look at her, be near her. Somehow, looking made the numbness he’d experienced for over two years go away, even just temporarily.
Looking at her brought back a time before his life had crashed down all around him, not just once with his dad’s death but twice with his wife’s.
Leigh seemed content to play along with his setup as she washed her hands, then dried them.
He spoke into his own disposable cell phone and leaned back against a wall, not moving, never giving himself away.
“How about you open up that honey wine that’s still in the fridge?”
She glanced at the phone, and for a moment he felt a little envious that it was getting all the attention, not “Callum,” the name he’d given her. It’d been his paternal grandfather’s name and safe enough that it wouldn’t provide a strong connection if she should pop it into a computer to do some research on him.
“That wine’s for after dinner,” she said, moving over to the fridge and taking out a bottle of Chardonnay. “But I like a nip or two of the drier stuff while I’m cooking, so don’t mind if I do.”
“You don’t drink on your show.”
“Producer’s choice. They don’t want to encourage reckless cooking.”
She smiled as she poured herself a glass, then lifted it in a toast.
“To you, wherever you are.”
She tipped her glass to all four corners of the room, and when she got to where he was hidden, he went even stiller than before, as if she had somehow discovered him.
But that was ridiculous. And it was heart-poundingly exciting to feel as if he’d almost gotten caught.
She took a sip, then set down the glass, reaching for one of her honey jars and unscrewing the lid. He knew that she was going to give him his money’s worth with some corn bread, a salad, balsamic honey–glazed lamb chops, spicy honey-roasted cauliflower and, ultimately, a honeycomb cake.
An impetuous thought kicked him: What would she do if he appeared down there by her side to eat dinner with her?
The notion made his chest feel as if it had closed right up. He wouldn’t be showing himself. He liked this so-called date as it was—flirting, seduction by shadow, no responsibilities in the end, just as if he were on the computer having yet another virtual encounter.
Maybe, as Beth said, he was warped.
Leigh had turned on the oven and was now greasing a pan for the bread.
“So what’s with you and Beth?” she said, a lilt in her voice.
She was flirting with him. He couldn’t be wrong about that, because little by little, as she had taken a tour of this house, he’d sensed her warming up to his voice.
“Beth is a friend—” he started to say.
“I know, I know.” She put the bread pan aside and cleaned her hands. “Friends and professional associates. But she’s a beautiful woman, too. Don’t you ever...?”
His shields went up at the mere suggestion of a romantic relationship with anyone. “No. Never.”
Leigh’s posture stiffened.
Recovering, he said, “First, Beth is like a big sister to me. Second, she’s not into my type.”
Leigh seized on that. “What type is that?”
He smiled at her perseverance. “Men.”
Leigh’s mouth formed an O. But then she went right back to cooking, measuring flour in a cup and dumping it into the bowl. “That’s funny, because when Beth showed up at the auction and bid on my basket, everyone thought...you know...that she was bidding on me.”
“Under any other circumstances, that could’ve been the case. But she considers herself unlucky in love and hasn’t been serious about anyone for a while. There’s just too much work to do for me, she says. Supposedly, the hours she puts in make it hard to find a meaningful relationship.”
“You sound like quite a taskmaster.”
“I’m not the one who keeps her at her desk overtime. She’s a workaholic.”
By now Leigh had poured the cornmeal into the bowl.