Part 11 (2/2)
She brushed off her hands, took a bite out of the leg, and chewed thoughtfully. He liked feeding her, liked knowing that something he'd made was pa.s.sing over her tongue and going down into her body.
”It's good.”
He smiled. ”I know.”
She shook her head, but he caught a hint of smile. ”You've got a monstrous ego, you know that?”
He took out a piece for himself. ”Yeah. But I'd also never give you something that wasn't my best.”
”Trying to impress the boss,” she said, lightly.
No, the woman, he thought.
”Maybe.” He polished off a thigh and a leg and then settled back against a rock. He looked over at her.
”This is really good.” She reached into the bag for another piece. ”Are you going to put it on the new menu?”
”I don't think so. I'm keeping the number of selections small and everything is French. Two chickens, two fish, two meats. Until we get more customers, I'm not even going to bother with a dessert list. They'll have to be satisfied with whatever I make.”
”G.o.d, I really hope this season's strong.”
”But you're thinking of selling, aren't you?”
Her head snapped around. ”Good Lord, no. What makes you say that?”
”The Englishman. I could see his head working like an adding machine as he went through the kitchen.”
She looked down at the drumstick in her hand. ”He's just a tourist.”
”Hardly. That was Karl Graves, the international hotelier. He owns a dozen or so luxury hotels around the world.”
She seemed stunned, but recovered quickly. ”Then he can't be interested in buying White Caps. We're small fries to him.”
Nate wasn't about to mention that the mansion would make a perfect private house for someone like Graves.
”How much trouble are you in, Frankie?” There was a long pause. ”You can tell me.”
Her chin angled up. ”But I don't have to.”
”No. You can hold it all in until you explode. Which is a great coping mechanism, a.s.suming the people around you can handle the shrapnel.”
”You trying to play therapist?”
”Maybe. Mostly, I'm trying to be a friend.”
Which was, mostly, the truth.
He also wanted to have her naked, in his bed, writhing under him, scratching at his back. As all kinds of hot visions shot through his head, he prayed he still had a good poker face and that she wasn't a mind reader. Because he was d.a.m.n sure she'd bolt down the mountain at a dead run if she knew what he was imagining.
He was trying to play his cards right. Considering how she'd shut him down after their first kiss, he'd been careful to give her plenty of s.p.a.ce, hoping that she would come around, come to him. Unfortunately, she gave him a wide berth during the day. And every morning he woke up having not been disturbed.
After a week of unrelenting, l.u.s.ty yearning, he'd cracked. He couldn't stand staying away any longer. Which was why he'd asked her to go up the mountain with him. A little time alone...another chance to kiss her...
He rearranged his body on the rock, feeling his shorts get tight.
Trouble was, as much as he wanted to take things in a carnal direction, it was more important for them to talk right now. She'd been clearly thrown by the visit to the graveyard and he wished like h.e.l.l he could help her. He knew there was no way she was going to open up about her parents. So business was a second-best alternative.
”Look, I promise to keep my mouth shut,” he said, trying to get her to talk about her problems. ”And you can fire me if I don't.”
The corner of her lips twitched as she leaned forward and locked her arms around her knees. He wanted to pull her over against him and tuck her head into his shoulder. But given how stiff she was, she didn't look as if she'd accept anything of the sort, so he stayed where he was, hoping she'd give him a chance to say the right thing. He wanted to tell her she was doing the best she could. That she was giving it her all. That if the place failed, it wasn't for her lack of trying.
Because he'd do just about anything to take back that idiotic comment he'd made the night he'd first met her.
She cleared her throat. ”We'll survive somehow. We always have. I'm sc.r.a.ping the bottom right now, but that's nothing unusual for the start of the season.”
”Do you owe a lot on the place?”
”Too much.” She s.h.i.+fted. ”The yearly taxes are huge, the upkeep is ongoing, and business has been off. And we've got a big debt burden because the house had to go through my father's estate when he died.”
”It wasn't left to your grandmother first?”
She shook her head. ”Her father still hadn't forgiven her for marrying someone he considered beneath her so it went to my dad when he was twenty-two. He was the one who decided to turn it into a B B a couple of years later. Back then, business was good. Not enough to make the family wealthy again, but certainly enough to keep us comfortable.”
Frankie looked up at the sky.
”I keep hoping things will improve. And I have thought about selling, but not seriously. Always in the back of my mind I think, if I stop now, I'll cheat us out of the salvation that's coming any minute.” She laughed awkwardly and flashed him her eyes. ”But that's optimism for you. A rose-colored torture chamber.”
He admired her grit. ”What kind of a.s.sets are left?”
”You mean art and jewelry? Not much. Not enough. I sold off a set of sterling flatware and the last of my grandmother's rings to send my sister to college. Joy finished UVM in three years.” The warm pride in her voice quickly faded. ”Although I think that was because she knew money was tight and Grand-Em was having such difficulties.”
”Where did you go to college?”
”Middlebury. I didn't graduate.” There was no apology in her voice. ”I'd had some good plans, but they didn't work out. Though I don't know how well I would have done in the real world, anyway.”
”Real world? So what do you think you're living in here?”
She rolled her eyes at him. ”Saranac Lake is hardly the big leagues. It's not New York City.”
”Is that where you wanted to end up?”
There was a long pause. ”That's where I thought I was going to end up.”
”What happened?”
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