LITMIR.BIZ

      2

      LEIGH HAD EXPECTED to find him, Mystery Man, standing there with a saucy grin on his face.

      But all she discovered was an antique table holding a small wire stand that propped up a smartphone. Next to it was her auction basket; it was open, exposing blue-and-white-gingham lining, plus the jars of honey she had labeled with each course idea for this date.

      Looking at the inside of that basket, she felt as if this man had already undone part of her, like a button on her shirt.

      She shivered, especially when he spoke again.

      “You took a while to get up here, Leigh.”

      When she answered him, she tried to control her voice. “Fashionably late, right?”

      There had only been a bit of a quaver in her words. Not bad.

      “Better you come late than never coming at all,” he parried.

      Leigh didn’t know whether to laugh or melt into a stunned pool of sighs. Had he just tossed a sexual innuendo her way? And did he have any idea how twisted this was? How...

      God, how kind of, sort of...okay...absolutely intriguing?

      She sneaked a glance back at Beth, sending her a nonverbal message. Seriously? Talking to me through a speaker is part of the date?

      Beth smiled. This is just the beginning. Then she walked toward the table and picked up the phone. “How about a quick tour of the place before we head to the kitchen?”

      They were trying to get her settled. Not a bad idea, although Leigh wondered if she would ever feel relaxed tonight.

      “Sounds good,” she said.

      She followed Beth back through the foyer and past the grand staircase, all the while keeping her eye on that phone in Beth’s hand.

      The parlor, or living room, or whatever superrich people called a place like this, was just as expansive as the staircase and foyer. It boasted a wall-wide view of the beach below, the waves rolling toward the shoreline as the sun kept descending. The furnishings reminded Leigh of a leather-, cherrywood-and brass-filled museum.

      “How old is this house?” she asked just to make conversation since the phone had been silent.

      Mystery Man’s voice answered. “It’s not as ancient as it seems. It was built to look like old money, but it hasn’t been around for more than thirty years.”

      “I was hoping you’d tell me something like it’s been in your family since the Dark Ages. But among other things, I know you don’t live here.”

      As the voice on the phone laughed, even Beth seemed tickled that Leigh was still attempting to unearth information.

      Maybe Beth had been right: enjoy the night for what it was, because it sure seemed as if Mr. Millionaire had the means to give her a decadent date. And how many times had she been on one of those?

      Sure, she was used to living a better lifestyle now with her show and all. But her date had flown her down here, then offered to put her up in a high-class hotel, which she had refused because it had seemed like too much. He seemed to be pretty free with his money.

      As Leigh walked around the room, touching the grand piano by the window, then running her hand along the top of the long curved brass-backed sofa, she pictured a man who might go along with the voice. Secretive mogul? Billionaire cowboy?

      “Does it bother you,” he asked, “that I might know more about you than you know about me?”

      “I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t.” And she’d be lying if she said that it didn’t do something to her in a deep, shady place that she’d always repressed. This game he was playing was almost like voyeurism, where he could see her but she couldn’t see him.

      There was some power in knowing that he was interested in her enough to have singled her out, wasn’t there? It was kinky, and made her feel a little audacious. Lord knows, she’d never been audacious with a man before.

      She stopped at a vintage brass-trimmed minibar, inspecting it. “What exactly do you know about me?”

      “We could start with the superficial,” he said. “You’ve got a cooking show, but before that you were a personal gourmet chef who spent some time in Nashville working for a few country-singing stars. One of them gave you enough clout to get that show of yours going.”

      “You’ve done some homework on me.”

      As they talked, Beth strolled out of the room, leading Leigh to the staircase. It was as if the woman was a butler or maid of sorts in an old black-and-white suspense movie—there but not quite there, silent as a shadow in candlelight.

      “Believe it or not, Leigh,” he said, “your life is an open book.”

      Right on Beth’s heels, Leigh climbed the stairs slowly, trailing her hand along the polished wood banister. “Why do you say that? What else do you know about me?”

      Thud, went her boot on a stair. Thud, on another. Just like loud, body-shaking heartbeats.

      “At Cal-U,” he said, “you were a home-economics major. You were on the board for Rodeo Days each year and on the dean’s list, among other honors.”

      “And?”

      His laugh traveled over the air, infiltrating her.

      “And I know everything that’s on your biography page for the show’s website.”

      Leigh almost missed a step as she came to the top of the stairs to a long hallway lit by iron wall sconces and lined with an Oriental rug.

      How much did this man know about her? How deep had his research gone?

      She tried not to think about painful things, like her struggle to love herself her entire life. Or...

      Leigh took a breath. Or like her sister, Hannah, who’d died in a swimming accident before Leigh had even gotten out of high school. Hannah, who always 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

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