And God bless, too, the benefit of cosmetics and all the other accoutrements of being a woman. Heck , she thought, as she reached for one of her favorite lingerie sets, everyone looks better in clothing, anyway . She stepped into the tiny electric-blue panties and pulled them into place, then shimmied her breasts into the lace demi-cups of its matching bra. She adjusted the straps and swept up a pair of freshly ironed designer jeans. Donning them, she then stepped into a pair of strappy, red spiked heels that added three and a half inches to her stature, and pulled a color-coordinated sleeveless V-necked tunic on over her head. She added a narrow gold chain belt over the slinky jersey material, made a few adjustments until she was satisfied with its loose drape between hip and waist, then stood back and nodded. The glitter of gold was always a welcome addition to any outfit, and the belt helped hint at her contours while maintaining the always stylish, straighter silhouette.
She sashayed into the bathroom and plugged in her hot rollers. While waiting for them to heat, she applied liquid foundation with a light hand, powdered her T zone, added a hint of blush to the apples of her cheeks, then carefully made up her eyes with neutral colors, all to achieve a luminous no-makeup look.
The light that indicated the rollers were ready blinked off a few minutes later, just as she was tossing her eyelash curler and mascara back into the vanity drawer. She threw a few rollers into her hair, brushed her teeth, applied a nice cheery, rosy lipstick, and took the rollers out. After waiting a sec to let her hair cool, she pulled a brush through it, then tossed the brush in the drawer, bent from the waist, and mussed her hair vigorously with both hands. Straightening, she tweaked the 'do here and there, then walked back into the bedroom. She stopped in front of the minor once again to give herself another appraisal.
"Much better," she murmured. "I swear, only the air-brushed look truly good stark naked."
Still, she mused as she made her way to the kitchen, it certainly wouldn't hurt to get back on the diet wagon. Perhaps she'd cut up a little fruit and limit herself to that for breakfast.
It was a worthy goal—and one that lasted until she opened the refrigerator a moment later and spied the full carton of eggs. She did get out an orange, but along with it retrieved two eggs, a large crimini mushroom, a green onion, and half a small tomato. She set them all on the counter next to the stove. Remembering there was a nice smokedGoudain the dairy drawer, she grabbed that, too, and cut off a small hunk. She drizzled olive oil into a frying pan, set the pan on the burner, and turned the gas on beneath it. As blue flames licked the rim of the pan's bottom, she broke the eggs into a bowl she'd grabbed out of the cupboard. Adding a splash of half-and-half and a dash of salt and pepper, she whipped them to a froth with a wire whisk, then set them aside to quickly chop the rest of the ingredients.
She adored good food. She loved everything about it: its scents, its tastes, its textures. Reverence for the world of edibles and everything that could be done with them had sent her first to a culinary academy straight out of high school, then through advanced training and a series of apprenticeships with some ofCalifornia's most prestigious chefs.
She hummed as she poured the egg mixture into the hot pan and evenly distributed the vegetables, tomato, and finely cubed cheese on top of it. While waiting for it to set up enough to fold, she set the table with a pretty plate, a linen napkin, and silverware. Then she made herself a cup of tea, cut two thin slices from the middle of the orange, and arranged them in decorative twists on either side of her plate. She ate the remainder leaning over the sink.
A few minutes later she slid the omelet onto her plate and sat down to her meal. For a moment she simply breathed in the aroma and appreciated the omelet's aesthetic appeal against the blue plate and orange garnish. Then she picked up her fork, sliced off a bite, and slipped it into her mouth. Her eyes slid closed. Oh, my. She did so love good food. There was never a time she didn't enjoy eating. Well, her appetite did disappear on those rare occasions when she was upset, but fortunately for her—or perhaps unfortunately, given the way everything that passed her lips seemed to settle directly on her hips—she was a natural-born optimist.
A condition that threatened to die a natural death when halfway through her omelet her neck began to tingle, and she looked up to see Zach lounging in the archway.
He stood with one big shoulder propped negligently against the stucco jamb, watching her with the oddest look on his face. Then in the blink of an eye, the indecipherable look disappeared, and he pushed away from the arch and sauntered into the kitchen. Stopping next to the table, he regarded her without favor. "You still here?"
Lily set down her fork. "Yes," she said. "And just so we don't have to keep having this conversation over and over again, let me see if I can put this in words simple enough for you to understand. I. Am not. Leaving. Certainly not because you have some ridiculous notion that I'm out to cheat Glynnis of her inheritance. Your sister was kind enough to offer me a place to stay when my apartment went condo, and unless she asks me to leave, this is exactly where I plan to remain." At least until the last week in May, when her next stint as chef for a corporate yacht was scheduled to begin—but Lily didn't feel any burning need to share that information with Glynnis's brother.
She looked him over. Why did the guy have to be such eye candy? He had that flushed, moist glow of the freshly showered, and his hair was still damp, his cheeks smooth and shiny from a recent shave. He was just plain fan-yourself attractive, and lordy, didn't it just figure that the first man to rev her engine in way too long would turn out to be a judgmental oaf? Life was so unfair.
Never did it seem more so than when he asked in a silky baritone, "Did my sister happen to mention that the house is in my name, not hers?"
Zach watched as Lily absorbed the news. She looked stunned for a moment, but he had to hand it to her, she recovered quickly. Her fine-boned little chin lifted, and her eyes were cool as they met his head-on.
"And I assume you mean to challenge the legality of my contract with her?"
"Maybe." He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed down at her. But she looked way too good, so he transferred his attention to the plate in front of her, which held the most delicious-looking omelet he'd ever seen. Its tantalizing scent had been responsible for pulling him to the kitchen in the first place, and actually seeing its golden-brown perfection made saliva pool in his mouth. His stomach growled.
"Then I guess we'll see each other in court," Lily said, snapping his attention back to her. Cheeks flushed and eyes so bright a blue he suspected colored contact lenses, she pushed back from the table and rose to her feet. She carried her plate over to the sink where she scraped its contents, giving him a long, level look over her shoulder. "Because I'm still not leaving."
For one brief moment Zach didn't care. He watched the perfect omelet disappear down the garbage disposal and wanted to howl. Just because she couldn't finish it didn't mean it had to go to waste. He would have taken care of it for her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a proper meal, but it sure as hell hadn't been during the past twenty-four hours. Hunger, lack of sufficient sleep, and worry over his sister sent him across the space separating them. "Where's Glynnis?" he snarled, even though he knew damn well that hotheaded demands were destined to fail.
Lily didn't reply, but something in her eyes confirmed Zach's suspicion that she knew the answer, and with a lack of control that wasn't at all like him he wrapped his hands around her upper arms and pulled her up onto her toes. Bending his head, he got right in her face. "Where the hell is she?"