The Seductive Impostor (11 page)

“Yeah, well, I'm sorry,” she whispered, her breath just as shaky as the rest of her.

“Sorry?”

“I don't make a habit of attacking men.” She pushed a stray lock of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “This was…was…it was a momentary lapse in judgment,” she said, waving at the spot they'd recently occupied on the hardwood floor. She was surprised to see that the wood wasn't even singed. Mickey was sitting there now, looking at them with lupine disappointment.

“I don't think I want you going out with Jenkins,” Kee said, still staring at nothing.

Rachel shrugged. “I didn't really make the date for me. It's Willow you're actually indebted to.”

Kee looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Is your sister as…” He cocked his head and studied her. “As impulsive as you are?” he finally said. “Maybe I should warn poor Officer Jenkins.”

Rachel looked back at Mickey. “What is it with your wolf?” she asked, not answering his question. Her heartbeat had finally lowered to a steadier drum, but her whole body still tingled with remembered sensations. What madness had come over her that she was so wildly attracted to Keenan Oakes that she had actually attacked him?

And what was she going to do about it?

“Mickey?” he asked, also looking at the animal. He shook his head. “That damn wolf has cost me more girlfriends than I care to count.” He turned to her, gently tugging on her braid until she looked at him. “How about you, Rachel? Will Mickey scare you off as well?”

Rachel grinned at him. “There's not much in this world that frightens me, Mr. Oakes.” She held out her hand to Mickey, urging him over. “Especially not anything four-legged,” she added, patting the eager wolf who was now leaning against her, a blissful rumble coming from his throat as she scratched his neck.

Kee made a sound of disgust and stood up, grabbing his pajama top and shrugging back into it. Rachel sighed with regret—for no longer having his beautiful body to look at and for wanting to look at it in the first place.

Once dressed, Kee stood with his arms crossed over his chest and stared down at her with assessing sea-blue eyes. “Mind telling me what that was all about?” he asked.

“What?”

He nodded toward the spot on the floor where they'd ended up. “That kiss,” he clarified. “Or should I say that second assault on my manhood in less than forty-eight hours.”

She didn't like his towering over her like a god of inquisition. Nor did she like having to explain her actions, when he was guilty of the same thing only the night before.

“Just proving a point,” she told him, giving him a direct stare in return.

“And that point would be?”

“That it's pointless,” she countered. “Kissing me every chance you get will not help you find those passageways you seem to think exist. Nor will bringing me here and trying to lull me into trusting you make me admit to something I didn't do. I was not in your library two nights ago.”

Kee reached down and scooped her up in his arms, pulling her away from Mickey and walking to the closed door that led to the hall.

“Point taken, Miss Foster,” he said. “And please feel free to make that point again, anytime you wish.” He set her down in her wheelchair, bending close, his arresting eyes pinning her in place. “And Rachel,” he whispered thickly.

“Y-Yes?”

“The next time that particular point is made, by either of us, I intend to finish it.”

“F-Finish it?”

He nodded. And grinned. And lifted her chin with his finger and softly kissed her lips. “And Rachel?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Denying passion is much more dangerous than acting on it.”

R
achel was thinking,
later that afternoon as she sat at the massive desk in the library, that the intensity of her attraction to Keenan Oakes seemed to vary in direct proportion to her proximity to him.

If they were in the same room, she had quite a time controlling her emotions—wanting to be close to him, smell him, touch him, and feel his lips covering hers.

Conversely, if he was in another part of the house or gone into town to register his newly inherited fleet of expensive cars, Rachel found she was better able to pretend the arresting man didn't exist.

It was confounding, the mess she'd gotten herself into. Keenan Oakes was the new lord and master of Sub Rosa. He was a billionaire. He was arrestingly handsome, infuriatingly arrogant, and a far more dangerous man than she was prepared to deal with.

He stirred her blood. He made her feel alive as they waged a silent battle over the lie she'd told him, as she tried to outwit him by finding the secret room right under his nose, and as she brought his house to life while dodging his advances and making a few of her own.

Definitely stirred. Wonderfully alive.

On the other hand, she had helped build Sub Rosa, had just enough money in the bank for a comfortable living, and was also the daughter of the man who had killed his great-uncle. (Although from Kee's point of view that tragic event may have been a favor, considering the inheritance he'd walked into.)

But most disturbing, Rachel had actually thought she could keep herself dispassionate, aloof to the point of rudeness, and uninterested in things such as smells and touches and remarkably sensuous kisses.

What had possessed her to attack him this morning? Before that foolishly impulsive act, she might have been able to go on pretending he didn't affect her that way—if not to Keenan Oakes, at least to herself.

Now she was caught, because she found she wanted him passionately. Like the great home she was coaxing out of stasis, her own emotions were being awakened by piercing ocean-deep eyes, an incredible body, and a strong-willed zeal for life that was almost addictive.

Which was why she was beginning to feel guilty for setting Kee up to face the fireworks of Thadd's crimes.

The library door opened, and the devil himself walked in, followed by Duncan and Mickey. Mickey immediately trotted over to Rachel and pushed his nose against her arm, begging for a pat. She obliged her new friend, giving him her undivided attention, determined not to let Keenan Oakes continue to affect her, not even for one minute, even if it killed her.

Rachel soon discovered, however, that she couldn't control her heartbeat, which had started to race the moment he opened the door. Yup, directly proportional to his proximity.

“Making yourself at home, I see,” he said, standing in the middle of the room. He looked around, as if checking to see if anything had been stolen while he'd been gone. Apparently satisfied that she hadn't looted his home, he moved closer and gazed down at the blueprints spread out on the desk. “Ready to show me Thadd's vault?” he asked, turning the large pages, looking for the second-floor layouts.

Rachel placed her index finger on the drawing. “It's right here,” she said, pointing to the outline of the vault.

Kee studied the drawing, then looked to his left, at the east end of the library. “I see a wall of books,” he said, walking over to them.

Duncan followed, and both men stood examining the shelves. Rachel gently pushed Mickey away and moved the lever on her wheelchair, guiding herself over to them.

“There, Duncan,” she said. “Just to your right. Pull out those last three books on the middle shelf. See the lever? Turn it clockwise.”

Duncan did as she instructed, and the wall of books moved forward with a soft mechanical click. Both men stepped back and Mickey moved closer, sticking his nose in the newly exposed crack.

“Pull it open,” she instructed, positioning her chair out of the way. “It's heavy, but it will slide easily.”

Kee pulled on the bookshelf until it swung completely open, revealing the vault's large titanium door. “This is unbelievable,” he said, his voice awed and somewhat reverent.

“No,” Rachel countered, grinning at his back. “It's practical. You don't want to advertise a vault's location for would-be thieves.”

Kee turned narrowed eyes on her, his expression speculative. “What's the combination?” he asked.

Rachel broadened her grin, letting him know she knew why he was asking, and shrugged. “How should I know? It's your vault. Didn't the lawyers give you the numbers?”

Kee turned back to study the door, but not quickly enough for Rachel to miss his frustration. She almost laughed out loud. It was killing him not being able to mention their supposed meeting in this very room the other night.

She watched in silence as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and rummaged around inside it.

“Hey, while you've got that out,” Rachel said, remembering all the calls she'd made earlier, “I need some money.”

He looked over his shoulder at her.

“A thousand dollars should do for starters,” she told him, grinning again at his shocked look. “The pantry is empty, and Franny said she can't find her recipe for stone soup. She needs to go shopping.”

“What in hell's the cost of living in Maine?”

“For six large men? Oh, that should last you about a week.”

He turned fully around to face her. “What?”

“She needs staples, Kee. Flour, rice, spices, butter, shortening. And meat. Lots of meat. Should I go on? It's not cheap to restock an empty pantry.”

He dug into his wallet again.

“Unless you won't be staying that long,” she added, her expression hopeful. “Then six hundred should be enough, just for the basics.”

“This is all the cash I have on me right now. Franny will have to stretch it.” Kee handed her eight one-hundred-dollar bills. “And we're staying. I'll open an account in town that you can write checks on,” he said, turning back to the safe, a small card in his hand.

“No,” Rachel said. She was shaking her head when he turned back to her. “I agreed to give you only a few days of my time to help you open your home. I don't need a checkbook. I'm not, nor do I want to be, your property manager. And I don't want my name linked to Sub Rosa any more than it already is. Pay your own bills, or I'll find you a property manager if you want.”

He studied her in silence, and Rachel could almost see the wheels turning behind those arresting blue eyes of his. He was trying to decide whether or not this was a battle worth waging in their ongoing little war of wills.

He nodded curtly and turned back to the vault. “I don't need a manager,” he said, lifting the card beside the lock to read it more easily. “I'll pay what bills you've run up already. Just put them in a pile on my desk.” He began spinning the dial, smartly dismissing the subject.

But Rachel wasn't through yet. “You'll pay them promptly,” she told him. “And you won't haggle over the prices. The people I've hired to put in the docks and wash the windows are hardworking folks, and they can't afford to wait a month for their money.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked back at her.

“Thadd never had any problem getting work done at Sub Rosa,” she continued, ignoring his raised eyebrow and darkening expression. By God, she was going to make sure Keenan Oakes understood the work ethic of Maine people. She was the one who had called them, and it was her reputation that would be hurt if they had to wait for their money.

“In fact,” she added, arching her own brow, “folks were always eager to come the moment Thadd called, because they always went home with a check in their pocket the minute the work was completed. They're going to expect the same from you.”

Duncan took a step back, away from Kee. Rachel kept her chair firmly planted where it was, and recklessly—and quite eagerly—continued her lecture.

“And Franny wants to be paid in cash, every Thursday by noon, so she can get to the bank and back before she has to start supper. Eight hundred dollars for her, seven hundred for her kitchen help, and another five a week for the food. For that you'll have three meals a day, six days a week. You're on your own on Sundays.”

She'd give him credit. He didn't even bat an eyelash at the figures she threw out. His expression, however, darkened. And his eyes narrowed.

Rachel shot him another grin. “When's your daughter coming? Should I make arrangements for a nanny? I know a couple of high school girls who'd love the chance to earn extra money this summer.”

“Mikaela will be fine,” he said. “She's got Mickey to look out for her.”

Rachel was horrified. “A wolf is not a babysitter.”

Kee turned his attention back to the lock on the vault. “He's more reliable than most teenagers,” he said over his shoulder. “Dammit. This combination isn't working.”

Rachel moved her chair to the desk and gathered up the notepad she'd been using and tucked it next to her thigh. She pushed the lever again and started across the library, headed for the door. She was done here, since she wasn't having any luck pricking Kee's temper. She might as well go down to the kitchen and see if Franny had arrived yet.

Mr. Unflappable stepped out and blocked her path. “And just where are you going? I can't get the vault open,” he said, somewhat accusingly, as if it were her fault.

Rachel gave him an innocent look. “Then you've got a big problem. A nuclear explosion won't crack that safe. You should probably call your lawyers and get the right numbers.”

He leaned down, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair, setting his face level with hers. “I bet you know how to open it,” he said softly.

Proximity. Much too close.

“You'd lose that bet.”

“Come on, Rachel. Get me into my vault.”

“You want me to try those numbers?”

“No. I want you to open it with the combination you already have. Up here,” he added, reaching up and gently tapping her forehead.

Her heart shifted into overdrive the moment he touched her. She was close enough that she could smell the sea on him, mingled with the faint scent of roses. Her palm itched again, but not with the urge to smack him this time. She wanted to run her fingers along the strong curve of his jaw.

Or she could do something even more stupid. What if she just glided her chair over to his vault and simply opened it?

Yes, that just might prick his temper. And riling Keenan Oakes was much safer than throwing herself into his arms.

“I'll make a deal with you then,” Rachel offered, quietly pulling on the lever of her chair, trying to back up.

He held the chair firmly, overriding the gears with little effort. He grinned at her futile attempt to put some distance between them. “And what would that be?” he asked.

“I'll get you into your safe if you let me hire a nanny for your daughter.”

He straightened, releasing the chair. Rachel went flying backward the moment she was free. She bumped into the desk and Mickey came bounding over, grabbing at the wheels.

“Mikaela doesn't need a babysitter,” Kee said, his arms crossed over his chest, his feet planted in a way that Rachel had come to recognize as his intent to be stubborn.

“She's what? Four? Five?” she asked.

“She'll be five the end of this month,” he told her. One side of his mouth turned up. “And she'd probably keelhaul anyone you hired within a week.”

“This isn't a place you can let a kid run wild,” Rachel said, moving her chair back toward him. She could match his infuriating stubbornness with a healthy dose of her own. “Sub Rosa isn't an amusement park, nor was it designed with children in mind. There are thirty-foot drops from the cliffs at high tide, a maze of hallways and rooms that can confuse a mapmaker, and five hundred acres of woods to get lost in.”

He nodded in Mickey's direction. “The wolf will keep her from getting lost, in and out of the house, and she climbs the ropes on my schooner like a monkey. I'm sure your cliffs will be more of a challenge than a danger to her.”

Rachel was terror-stricken at what he was implying. “She's a child,” she said, her voice rising with outrage. “She needs supervision.”

“There's six men living here,” he countered, leaning over and grabbing the arms of her chair again, getting back in her face. And his voice, when he spoke, was forcefully soft. “I've been looking after my daughter since she was ten minutes old, Miss Foster, and I haven't killed her yet.”

Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat. Ohh-kay. The subject of Mikaela Oakes was definitely off limits.

“Fine. Open your own safe,” she said, swatting his hands away and slamming the lever on her chair to the left. The wheels spun, and the smell of heated rubber rose into the air and followed her out the library door.