“Owen reports that Bryce and Cynthia picked up the Corvette, drove into the mountains, and rented a cabin up there. He has the cabin staked out and says they’re still in there.”
Giselle scrambled to her knees. “Let’s go! We can grab a piece of fruit for breakfast and head on up the mountain.”
His gaze swept over her half-submerged body and lingered on her breasts. “You need to slide back into the water. Now you look like a mermaid, and you know how tempting they are to us humans.”
Even though he was talking about mermaids, having him refer to himself as a human while suggesting that she was not sent a chill down her spine. “But if they’re staying put, maybe they’re ready to talk. A mountain cabin would make more sense as neutral territory than some noisy restaurant or casino.”
“I’m not convinced they’re ready to talk to us face-to-face. I also have a rhyming message from Cynthia. I wouldn’t call it a riddle, though. Back in the water, please.” He lowered his hand as if pushing her there. “Down, down. That’s good. Stay right there.”
“I don’t see the point in this. The water’s clear as a bell.”
“Yes, but from over here, I can’t see much more than your head sticking up over the rim of the tub.”
“Come on, Luke. Surely the sight of my naked body doesn’t—”
“It does. And don’t make fun. I’m seriously in lust with you, sweet peach, and after last night’s boinkathon, I’m having trouble concentrating. All the research says that a man’s sexual trigger is visual stimulation, so I’d appreciate your cooperation in the matter.”
“Okay.” She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. No lover had ever said that kind of thing to her before, probably because Weres were stimulated by scent more than sight. A werewolf would be less interested in her sexually right now because the water and the Epsom salts muted her aroma. “So what’s the message?”
“Forest cabin, empty soon. Message waiting, happy tune.”
“So they’re leaving something for us in the cabin.”
“Right. And sure as the world, something in there will be designed to get me wet.” He glanced at her. “Maybe you can figure out in advance what that might be, given your knowledge of your brother’s pranking skills.”
“I’ll try. Let me think about it.”
Luke’s phone chimed. “She sent a PS. Don’t send Owen in instead. I know he’s watching the cabin.” Luke glanced up. “She’s really enjoying this.”
“Of course she is. She’s got your attention.” Now, if he’d only listen, really listen and understand, they might get somewhere.
“I’ll bet she’s also got the DVD of all her recitals. That was in the vault.”
“She has a right to them, after all. She’s your sister, a part of the family.” Giselle hesitated. Might as well give it a try. “Have you ever considered making her an officer in the corporation?”
His stunned expression was all the answer she needed, but he confirmed it verbally. “No. She’s only twenty-two.”
“What does that have to do with it? She must be really smart if she was on track to graduate magna cum laude from Yale.”
“Yeah, but . . .” His gaze reflected his struggle with a concept that obviously had never occurred to him.
“Luke, what did you expect her to do with her degree?”
He shrugged. “My dad was the one who encouraged her to go. I don’t know whether he had something in mind.”
“Sounds as if the whole idea of college for her was based on some vague concept. If she is goal-oriented, there’s nothing vague about becoming a showgirl. It’s tangible and she has a role model—her mother.”
“I know. I’ve thought of that.”
“Her other two role models, her father and you, are in the business world, but apparently you’ve never invited her to be part of that world and neither did your dad. You were expected to take over because you’re the son. She’s the daughter, who’s expected to do something brilliant . . . somewhere else. What’s the appeal?”
“She wouldn’t want to be part of the Dalton Corporation.” He gazed at her. “Would she?”
“You’ll never know if you don’t ask her.”
Luke massaged the back of his neck. “I have to think about this.”
“I’m sure you do.” She heard the penthouse front door open. “Our breakfast is here.”
He blinked. “Your hearing is scary good.” He paused to listen. “Okay, now I hear him moving around in there, clinking dishes and stuff. But you heard him come in the door, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. It’s genetic. Both my parents have the same excellent hearing.”
“And Bryce?”
She nodded. “Bryce, too.”
“That seems like an unusual genetic trait. I’ll bet medical science would be interested in it.”
“I suppose.” Not to mention her canine DNA. But she’d never set foot in a traditional doctor’s office. Her pack supported a clinic staffed by Were physicians trained at a top secret Were medical school.
“But you probably wouldn’t want to go through a bunch of tests and stuff,” he added.
“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
“Don’t blame you. Nothing worse than being treated like some lab rat. Well, let me go see how breakfast is coming along and make sure that your waffle is fixed the way you ordered it. Once I’m gone, feel free to climb out of the tub.”
“I will.” She smiled at him.
“And put on something really ugly, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Bet it won’t help. You’re just too damned beautiful for your own good.” With a chuckle, he left the bathroom.
She was really starting to like this guy . . . a lot. And that made keeping such a big secret from him even tougher. She pictured the scene if she told him.
At first he wouldn’t believe her. She’d have to shift to prove it. And he might be absolutely horrified. She shuddered. Good thing that was never going to happen.
Chapter 17
Luke found Mr. Thatcher putting the final touches to the breakfast table. He placed a small bouquet of roses in the center and stood back to admire the effect.
“Very nice, Mr. Thatcher. Giselle will love those.”
“I daresay she will. She seems to appreciate small kindnesses.”
“She . . . ah . . . didn’t stay in the guest room last night. I don’t want you to be surprised when she comes out of my bedroom.”
Only a slight flicker in Mr. Thatcher’s eyes registered his response to that. His demeanor remained calm. “That’s between you and the lady, sir.”
“True.”
The butler cleared his throat. “But I would like to say one thing, if I may be permitted to do so.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“I would caution you not to get attached. I doubt that she’ll be around very long.”
Luke remembered that the butler and Giselle had talked the night before while Luke had been embroiled in the scheduling conflict down in the kitchen. “Did she say anything specific about that to you?”
“Not exactly. Call it intuition, but I don’t see her as a long-term solution to your loneliness.”
Luke caught his breath. Mr. Thatcher was always so proper and formal. He rarely made such a personal comment. “Who said I was lonely?”
“Pardon me, sir.” His naturally ruddy cheeks turned a shade darker. “I forgot myself for a moment.”