Manhunting in Mississippi (17 page)

She heard the faint thump of a car door closing and the rumble of an engine turning over. Piper disrobed, sighing at the expanse of red, angry skin on her stomach and back,

and stepped into the shower, al owing the warm water to soothe her surface discomfort…. The rest would take some time.

IAN TRIED
to recal when he had last been tossed out of a woman’s bed in the early-morning hours fol owing an incredible night of mind-blowing sex, but no incidents came to mind.

Which could probably be attributed to the fact that even when he’d been sowing oats as a young bachelor, he’d never indulged in such blatantly hedonistic acts as he’d shared with Piper Shepherd. He’d never finger-painted a woman with chocolate and licked it off her body gratuitously. He’d never mixed fruit with forbidden fruit. He’d never taken a woman on her kitchen table. And he’d never been so disappointed to wake up and find himself alone.

She was obviously feeling guilty over betraying Enderling, but what had prompted her to sleep with him in the first place? Was she trying to make the other man jealous? Then his gut clenched—was she trying to influence his decision about the contract? She’d been insistent that he try the dessert last night. Had it been to prime him for a meeting she’d already planned this morning? Was she perhaps in line to receive some kind of commission if he signed with Blythe? Would she threaten to take their affair public if he refused?

Pursing his mouth, Ian realized he simply had to face the possibility that she may have targeted him from the beginning—and he had been so taken by her that he’d forgone his normal scrupulous business conduct and fol owed her to bed. Or was her ploy furthered by some subconscious desire of his to sabotage his relationship with Meredith?

Passing a hand over his face, he groaned in frustration. He simply had to speak to Meredith today. Ian stopped and stared at his bare ring finger, panic rising in his chest. What had happened to Meredith’s ring? He hadn’t taken it off since his drain scare yesterday. His mind raced. When had he last seen it? Thumping his hand on the steering wheel, he fast-forwarded through last night’s…scenario. He vaguely remembered his ring snagging on the pil owcase in Piper’s bed, so he’d been wearing it when he went to sleep.

Muttering an oath, he jammed his hand through his hair. He’d lost Meredith’s engagement ring in the twisted sheets of another woman’s bed.

“GOOD MORNING,”
Piper said calmly. It had taken her half an hour to perfect the greeting—she wasn’t so sure about what would come out of her mouth next.

“I suppose so,” Ian replied, his gray eyes flitting over the most conservative outfit she owned—pale blue crepe jacket and slacks. Minus his briefcase, he stil looked the part of rich businessman in a dark, single-breasted suit. His only concession to the heat was a crisp white col arless knit shirt. He held a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses in one hand. And he stil wasn’t wearing his ring, she noted with a jolt.

Her heart lifted with unreasonable hope, but she couldn’t prevent it. Had he taken it off—and left it off—in light of their newfound attraction? Then she bit down on the inside of her cheek. Or was he simply keeping it tucked away until he returned to his lover to play the faithful partner?

He glanced around and nodded at Rich who stared, unsmiling, from a doorway just a few feet away. Her perceptive friend knew something was wrong. Ian leaned forward and

lowered his voice. “I, um, seem to have left something in your house.”

She frowned in confusion.

After clearing his throat, he said, “More specifical y, in your bed.” He wiggled the fingers on his left hand, his eyebrows raised.

His ring. He hadn’t removed it—he’d
lost
it…in her bed. She might have laughed out loud if it hadn’t hurt so much. Irony had her number on speed dial.

“I, um, didn’t find it,” she said, her gaze darting to her assistant. “Let’s move this meeting into the lab, shal we?” She grabbed a blue lab coat and led the way, her feet heavy and her stomach churning. Piper tried her best to ignore Rich’s pointed stare as they passed him.

Once the door to the lab had closed behind them, she wheeled. “Ian, what makes you so sure you left your ring at my house?”

His eyes widened and his head jutted forward. “What makes me so sure? How about the fact that I was wearing it when I got there and I wasn’t when I left?”

“When did you notice it was gone?” she persisted.

He sighed. “While I was driving back to the motel before the crack of dawn. What is this—‘Twenty Questions’?”

“Do you remember taking it off?”

“No, it must have come off while we were…” His face reddened. “Sleeping.”

She crossed her arms. “Wel , that certainly narrows the window of opportunity, doesn’t it?”

“It probably snagged on the covers,” he said, his voice elevated.

“
Do
you mind keeping your voice down?” she whispered loudly. “I’d real y rather everyone not know about…what happened.”

His eyebrows knitted and his eyes narrowed in anger. “Then I guess I shouldn’t have waved at your neighbor this morning as I left?”

Piper moaned. “You waved at Lenny?”

A disgusted sigh left his mouth. “No, I didn’t wave at anybody! What do you think, that I’m trying to advertise the fact that we slept together?”

“No,” she said evenly. “I’m sure you’re as eager as I am to keep this to ourselves.”

“Unfortunately, I’l need to come back and look for the ring.”

“I’l look for it,” she promised. “And if I find it—”

“Perhaps we should look for it together,” he said hurriedly.

A thought struck her, and her mouth went slack. “You don’t trust me, do you? What, do you think I squirted whipped cream on your finger and slipped off your ring while you were dozing?”

“No,” he said hotly. “But I don’t expect you to be on your hands and knees—”

“You certainly expected it last night,” she cut in.

His face turned purple. “What?
I’m
the one who has rug burns on my knees—”

“Wel , that’s what you get, Mr. Kie-yie-yippie-yie-a.”

“Good morning, al .”

Piper spun toward the door. To her horror, Edmund stood there with a smile plastered on his face.

“M-Mr. Blythe,” she stammered.

“Piper, Mr. Bentley.” He nodded at each of them in turn, then sauntered into the room as if he hadn’t walked in on a shouting match.

“Edmund,” Ian replied, his voice somewhat strained.

Her boss continued over to the coffee station and fil ed a paper cup, then added cream. “I hope you don’t mind, Ian, but Piper told me this morning about her new recipe, so I thought I’d sit in on your meeting and see how you like it.”

“Mind?” He glanced at Piper and she winced, wondering how much of their “meeting” Edmund had heard. “No, I don’t mind. We were just about to, um—”

Come to blows.
“Get started,” Piper finished magnanimously. She yanked on the lab coat and walked over to the refrigerator, trying to get past her misery. It was useless—Ian would never give them the contract, she’d never get the bonus, she’d never have the home she wanted and she’d never have another date.
Because he has ruined me for other men.

She removed the two new batches of sauce from the refrigerator and banged the door so hard, both men turned her way. “Spring-loaded door,” she lied, then moved toward the

white table. Trying not to think about the consumption of the last batch she made, she put the chocolate sauce in the microwave, then removed fresh, warm chocolate muffins from the oven.

“By the way, Piper, Saint Augustine’s sent us a nice thank-you letter for al owing you to chef the children’s benefit dinner,” Edmund said from the table. He winked at Ian, who pul ed out a chair opposite him. “Ms. Shepherd real y knows her way around the kitchen, wouldn’t you agree, Bentley?”

Feeling wicked, Ian nodded and blew into his cup of black coffee. “She fixes a nice spread, yes.”

A tightening of her jaw was the only evidence that she’d heard him. He watched those wonderful y talented smal hands assemble two desserts, then carry them to the table. A

rich, dark aroma floated from the cakes, tickling his nose when she set the concoction before him. She pul ed a fact sheet from her lab-coat pocket and lay it next to his portion.

“Gentlemen, may I present Mississippi Malted Mud Puddles.”

With one look at the cake, memories of the previous night assaulted him. On cue, he began to salivate, feeling like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

Edmund smiled, turning his saucer around. “Why, it’s lovely, Piper. I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you, Bentley?”

“Er, no,” he murmured. “I real y can’t say that I have.” He glanced behind her. “Do you have any extra garnishes with the cake?”

Her blue eyes widened innocently. “Oh, I almost forgot.” From behind her back, she pul ed out a can of whipped cream. With an exaggerated flourish, she gave each of them a

generous dol op on top of their respective cakes.

Ian stared at the fluffy cream and shifted in his seat, remembering with remarkable distinction the way she’d turned her wrist last night at the last second to put a little swirly tail on top of whatever area of his body she was covering at the time.

While he stared, a perfect-stemmed maraschino cherry plopped on top.

He looked up and she smiled back. “You do like cherries, don’t you, Mr. Bentley?”

He ground his teeth to curb his burgeoning arousal. “I’ve been known to eat one or two.”

“Two?”
she said, her eyebrows raised. She reached into the jar she held and dropped another cherry onto his cake, flattening the whipped cream. “Perhaps you can save one to take back to Chicago with you.”

She glanced to Edmund, who seemed a little frightened at her zeal for cherries. “I’l pass.”

Ian pursed his lips, determined to be civil. “Aren’t you going to indulge with us, Ms. Shepherd?”

Edmund laughed. “Piper’s al ergic to chocolate—can you believe it? A food scientist who creates some of the best desserts in the country, and she’s al ergic to chocolate.” He scooped up a gooey bite and shoved it in his mouth, then rol ed his eyes and made a contented grunt as he chewed.

Ian digested the information, then glanced up at Piper. She blushed furiously. “Al ergic, you say?”

“Yeah,” Edmund said thickly. “She breaks out in a rash and everything, don’t you, Piper?”

She didn’t answer, but rol ed her shoulders as if she wanted to scratch something right then and there.

“A rash?” Ian asked, amused at this bit of news. “So, Ms. Shepherd, the occasion would have to be a rather special one before you would consume chocolate with, shal we

say,
gusto?
”

Her face turned a deeper shade of pink, quite becoming with her blue eyes and blue suit and blue lab coat. “Th-there are times, understandably so, when I have to eat chocolate for the sake of my job.”

“This is absolutely wonderful,” Edmund exclaimed. “Do I taste coffee in this too?”

She nodded.

“Piper, my dear, you are a genius.” Her boss scooped the last bite into his mouth and Ian had the feeling if he’d been alone, the man would have licked the saucer clean.

“So, tel me, Edmund,” Ian said, taking another sip of his coffee. “What does your resident genius get if I contract with Blythe?”

Edmund stopped chewing, but it took a few seconds for his jowls to slow down. A slight frown creased his forehead. “Wel , Bentley, I don’t think—”

Ian cut him off with a casual wave. “Oh, come on, Edmund. I use bonuses and commissions to motivate my own people—I understand sales.”

The older man glanced up at Piper then back to Ian. “I stil don’t like to discuss my employees’ salaries.”

“That’s al right, Edmund,” Piper said softly. “I don’t mind if Mr. Bentley knows.”

“How much?” Ian asked, locking gazes with her.

“Ten thousand,” she said, her expression perfectly stil .

Ian nodded, his heart squeezing with disappointment. She’d slept with him hoping he’d sign the contract and she would get the money. Wel , he had to give her credit—she

certainly didn’t undervalue herself. “Ten grand,” he repeated, stroking his chin. “I’d say that’s worth a few days of itching, wouldn’t you, Ms. Shepherd?”

Her eyes gave nothing away. “I’d have to say so.”

Ian bit down hard on his tongue and dropped his gaze to the fact sheet. He scanned it quickly, then turned to Edmund. “Where’s the contract?”

Edmund’s eyes widened. “A contract? But don’t you want to talk to production and marketing?”

Ian shook his head. “I know you’l work it out—I need to get back to Chicago right away.” He raised his gaze to Piper. “Something there needs my immediate attention.”

Edmund pul ed a rol ed sheath of papers from his inside coat pocket. “This is a generic agreement, but we can handle the rest of it over the ph—” He squinted his eyes at the saucer in front of Ian. “Bentley, man, you didn’t even try it. I promise it’s the best thing you’l ever eat—you should at least try it.”

Ian signed his name on a few pages, then glanced up with a tight smile. “Trust me, Edmund, I know it’s the best thing I’l ever have. Could I get copies of these, please?”

Edmund jumped up, obviously flustered. “Of course, I’l take care of it right now.”

Ian stood and buttoned his jacket, avoiding her gaze. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Shepherd.”

“And with you, Mr. Bentley,” she said quietly. “I’l look for your ring, and if I find it, I’l contact your office.”

He tossed a business card on the table and nodded curtly. “I hope it’s insured.”

She nodded back. “So do I.”

“Wel , goodbye then.” He strode toward the door, then stopped and looked to the table where she was standing.

Her lips parted slightly, then she said, “Did you forget something?”

He simply wanted to look at her one last time. Beautiful, sensual and not nearly as naive as he had once thought. “As a matter of fact, I did.” He walked back to the table slowly, wanting one last kiss. Then he remembered she didn’t have a reason to play along anymore—she had the contract, and her money. Ian reached down and plucked one of the cherries from the top of his untouched dessert, and careful y wrapped it in a paper napkin that said Blythe Industries.