Moorehouse Legacy: Beauty and the Black Sheep Part 12

She stood up abruptly. "Let's go back. I have to get the dining room set up."

"Why? It's Tuesday. We're closed."

She seemed to stall out. "The plumber. The plumber's in my office. He'll need to be paid."

Nate told himself that pushing her was not the answer. Patience, on the other hand, might just get him where he wanted to go.

Yeah, and where was that exactly?

The idea that he'd made a destination out of her concerned him. Just like that pit in his stomach, which, in spite of the chicken he'd just eaten and the fact that he wasn't looking at the lake, was still with him.

Nate stared up at her. "I'm glad you talked to me."

"I don't know why I did." She started bouncing from foot to foot as if warming up for the trip down the mountain.

He stood, brushed off his shorts and grabbed the bag. He kept his voice causal. "We all need a friend at one time or another. You can pay me back in kind sometime."

He started for the trail and was surprised when she didn't follow. He looked over his shoulder to find her staring at him, a hard light in her eyes.

"I meant what I said, Nate. We aren't going to get close."

"So we'll just have s.e.x. And I won't ask anymore prying questions." He smiled, even though getting the stiff-arm from her hurt.

"I'm serious. I don't want anything from you."

He narrowed his eyes, thinking about their kiss. "You sure about that?"

"Positive."

And just what was so d.a.m.n wrong with him, he wondered grimly.

She brushed a piece of hair out of her face. "I don't want you as a lover or a friend."

"Oh, that's right. Because you've got so many of both."

"Just leave me alone."

Two long strides had him next to her. He was of a mind to point out that relying on others wasn't a capital crime, but she stepped back in alarm, as if he might force himself on her. It was like getting slapped. That she thought he was that kind of man.

Nate lifted his arms, holding his hands away from her.

"You want to be left alone? You got it, lady," he growled. "Just give me a five-minute head start so we don't have to walk down together."

He turned and headed for the footpath, not at all surprised when she did nothing to stop him.

Ah, h.e.l.l. Instead of fighting for her, he should let her go. She wasn't interested in a casual lay and that was all he could offer her because he didn't do relationships. As for the friends bit? What a load of horse manure that was. As far as he was concerned, they could be lovers or nothing.

Nate dragged a hand through his hair, not real impressed with the way he was thinking about the situation. Lovers or nothing? G.o.d, he sounded like such a guy.

But d.a.m.n it, if he was honest with himself, her rejection hurt. And he wanted to lash out at something.

So maybe he should go for a run when he got back to the house.

Yeah, like to Kentucky and back.

Several days later, Frankie surveyed the dining room from the mahogany hostess stand at the door. It was Friday at eight o'clock and they had fifteen out of twenty tables filled. The surging volleys of talk cut through the cla.s.sical music playing from the stereo.Word about Nate had gotten out around town and the locals were coming to sample the new chef's food. People she hadn't seen except for when she was doing errands in the square were coming back to eat at White Caps. As she looked at all the filled seats, she had to remind herself not to get excited, not to find the lifeline she was looking for in what might only be a one-time tryout for the patrons, not a trend.

But there were plenty of new things for them to try. Nate had completely reinvigorated the menu. It was all nouvelle cuisine now and the words were in French with English translations he'd written out for her. She'd typed the text up on the computer, bought some heavy, creamy paper usually used for resumes and printed out new inserts for the leather bound menu folios they'd been using for twenty years.

As a couple came through the door, Frankie smiled, unsheathed two menus, and led the way across the room. Generally, Joy played hostess because she was better at it. Looked better, too. But Grand-Em wasn't doing well tonight so Frankie was picking up the slack as well as busing tables. The two college girls she'd hired as waitresses were working out well, but if business kept up, they might need even more help.

Although this time she'd try and hire a guy. Because watching Rachel and Theresa drool over Nate was wearing thin and the girls had only been around for a week. G.o.d, the constant giggling and jiggling was driving Frankie nuts.

Although she was not jealous. Or being possessive. Really.

She was on the way back to the hostess stand when a woman reached out and waxed poetic about the chicken she was eating. As the guest insisted her compliments be sent along to the chef, Frankie smiled, nodded and thought that short of slipping Nate a note, she wasn't sure how she was going to do that.

Nate had given her just what she'd asked for. He hadn't looked at her or spoken more than three words to her since he'd left her on the mountain. His inventory reports were on her desk in the morning and he was always busy at the stove whenever she came through the kitchen. When she'd given him his paycheck and tried to thank him for all his hard work, he'd nodded curtly and walked out on her.

Typhoid Mary had gotten more attention from a man.

This was really not what she wanted. They needed to have a good professional relationship and the silent treatment was making work uncomfortable. She also couldn't really understand the total cold shoulder and wondered if maybe she'd hurt his feelings a little. But that seemed like a really arrogant a.s.sumption. Especially considering he had a fan club of nubile twenty-year-olds.

At the end of the night, she went back to her office and added up the business they'd done. Thirty-five meals, plus drinks, plus tips. Over twenty-five hundred dollars. More than they'd brought in over a single night in a long time.

All because of Nate.

She looked up from the receipts. If this continued, she was going to catch up with the mortgage just fine by the end of October. And the timing was great. The meeting with Mike at the bank had been tense, even though he'd a.s.sured her that he wasn't going to foreclose. She figured she'd call him in the morning, share a little good news and take some pressure off of him.

Joy stepped into the doorway, looking worn out. "Grand-Em's finally asleep."

Frankie could imagine how her sister had spent the night. Distraction was the only thing that worked when the delusions got really strong and it was hard to come up with games and tricks for hours straight. Grand-Em might be losing her grasp on reality, but her mind was as quick as it always had been.

"How are you holding up?"

"I'm p.o.o.ped. She's still obsessed about finding her ring. She keeps insisting it's in the wall in her old bedroom. We also had more noise than usual downstairs so I think that kept her going, too. We sounded busy."

"We were."

"Nate's really wonderful, isn't he? We're so lucky he came by. He's made such a difference."

Frankie nodded and glanced down at the evidence.

Her sister frowned. "You don't seem to like him much."

"He's a good chef." She kept her eyes fixed on the paper.

"You really think so?"

"Of course."

"Have you told him?"

Frankie looked up. "Sorry?"

"Nate. In case you haven't noticed, he doesn't look real happy. Have you told him how much you appreciate his work?"

"I've tried. But I'll give it another shot."

"Good. I'm heading up." Joy lifted her hand and disappeared.

Frankie shuffled papers for a few minutes and then decided to grab the bull by the horns and go talk to him.

But the kitchen was empty. Everything was in its place, the dishwasher was churning over a load, the stainless steel counters were wiped clean.

She headed upstairs. His door was open, his light was off, his bed empty.

Where was he?

Frankie went back down to the kitchen. The house was quiet, the guests having gone to bed early to sleep off their sunburns and swim-sore muscles. She went outside through the back door, hoping to find him on one of the porches.

The night was a tender one, the breeze off the lake gentle, the moon glowing overhead. But he wasn't in any of the wicker chairs and she was about to turn around when she saw him, twenty yards away, standing on the dock. He had his hands on his hips and was looking down into the water. She started across the lawn.

And stopped when he took off his shirt. He tossed it behind him carelessly. Then shed his pants, too. There were no boxers or briefs for him to remove.

Good G.o.d, his backside was fantastic.

She put her hand over her mouth, thinking she really shouldn't wonder what the front of him looked like. But, oh, man, she could just imagine.

What a beautiful, powerful, naked man. He was like something out of a fantasy, drenched in moonlight, the lake sparkling around him.

Nate glanced over his shoulder.

And caught her red-handed. Her heart rate spiked even more, if that was possible, and she wondered how she was going to explain herself. Yeah, see, I was just out for a little stroll and, ah, d.a.m.n, you're built like a Greek statue, did you know that?

But he showed no interest in her at all. Just turned back around and dove into the lake with a clean slice.

Frankie frowned, and as tempting as it was to race back to the house, she decided to be a grown-up. She went down to the dock, as if seeing a man who looked as good as he did in his birthday suit happened to her every night.

He stroked out some distance and then rolled over on his back. If he was surprised that she'd taken a seat on the dock, he didn't show it.

"Something wrong?" he drawled. As if that would be the only reason she'd seek him out.

Nothing's wrong, she thought. Other than the fact that the image of his b.u.t.t was now tattooed onto the backs of her eyelids. Every time she blinked, she kept seeing that tight- "In a manner of speaking," she said huskily.

Yup, tonight was going to be such fun. Laying in the dark. Seeing his bare a.s.s on her ceiling.

"Let's hear it then." He swam to the dock and hefted his upper body out of the water. His forearms supported his weight while the bottom half of him stayed in the lake.

This she could deal with. All she had to do was forget he didn't have a bathing suit on. It wasn't like she could see anything.

Although, jeez, his shoulders were magnificent, the muscles straining under his skin. His hair was slicked back from his face, making his eyes seem fierce and his jaw especially hard. Or maybe that was all because of his mood.

She cleared her throat. "I want to thank you for all your hard work. I can't believe how business has picked up."

"You're welcome."

There was a long silence. She glanced down at her hands. "And I want to apologize for how defensive I got up on the mountain. Even though we have to keep things professional, you really were just trying to be nice and I basically bit your head off."

"No problem." His tone was bored.

"I should have handled that better."

"Forget it. I have."

He dropped back into the water, pushed off the dock and floated backwards.

Now why did that have to sting, she thought.

"Yeah. Well." She pulled the scrunchie out of her hair and played with it.

"There anything else you have to say?"

"Ah, no."

"Then you better head up to the house. I'm about to get out of this water and I can't imagine you're going to want to be sitting there when I do."

She closed her eyes, picturing him emerging from the lake, water droplets clinging to his skin. He would come over to her and urge her down onto the dock, getting her clothes wet as he laid on top of her and kissed her- "Good night, Frankie," he muttered.

She nodded, stood up and walked back to the house. Looking at the sky, she thought the night didn't feel the same. She wrapped her arms around herself. It wasn't quite so warm anymore.

Chapter Nine.

W hen Nate went down to the kitchen at five o'clock the next morning, he was thinking about whipping up some mousseline sauce. He wanted to cook something tricky. He wanted to get caught up in deftly manipulating temperature, in coaxing egg yolks and b.u.t.ter and flour into a sublime accompaniment for veal.

Because in the last couple of days, he'd lost his sense of humor, his ability to sleep through the night, and any semblance of equilibrium.d.a.m.n it, but he couldn't get that woman out of his head. He vacillated between wanting to yell at her, needing to beg, or thanking the Lord she had the sense to put a wall up between them. And her little visit last night when he'd been skinny-dipping had been the kicker.

Because water, when running over naked skin, felt a lot like a woman's hands. Especially when the female you wanted was sitting on the dock in front of you.

As if he needed the flipping reminder that he was desperate for her. Even though she was resolute about keeping them apart, he just couldn't seem to let the attraction go. First of all, he saw her every day. And even though he pretended to be busy as h.e.l.l whenever she pa.s.sed through the kitchen, he always watched her out of the corner of his eye. Talk about a recipe for disaster. He'd almost cut off his pinkie last night with a butcher's knife. And making things worse, he was sharing a bathroom with her. So every time he went in to take a shower, he thought about her naked, soaping herself down with the same bar he was using on his own body.

Man, if he didn't snap out of it, he was going to cut something off that wouldn't grow back. And have to start bathing in the lake.