Wrong Place, Wrong Time (18 page)

“Fair enough.” Blake was still gazing at her with that provocative look in his eyes. “Then I’ll rephrase. You’re incredible with animals. Chomper’s proof of that. You’re the epitome of grace on ice skates. But like it or not, you’re also a knockout. Not to mention sexy as hell — even with whipped cream on your nose.”

Somehow, even the teasing seemed intimate. “Thanks,” Devon managed. “I think.”

At that moment, an onslaught of teenagers piled into the restaurant. They were howling with laughter and shouting back and forth to one another.

Blake frowned. “So much for quiet conversation.”

“It seems that way.” Devon was just as unhappy as he was. She had a full agenda yet to delve into. She was far from ready to call it a night. “Maybe we could take a walk?”

“Bad idea. Our clothes are still damp, and it’s even colder now than it was earlier.” Blake pushed aside his dessert. “I have a better suggestion. It’s not that late. Let’s go back to my place. I’m on Seventy-eighth just off Third. That’s less than a mile from here. I’ve got a great bottle of Merlot I’ve been wanting to try. We’ll have a glass and talk.”

Devon’s brows arched.

“You don’t like Merlot?”

“I like Merlot.” A measured look. “I just want to be clear on what goes with it.”

“Ah.” Blake didn’t avert his gaze. “I’m not staging a seduction scene. Luring women into bed isn’t my style. And I’m smart enough to know that being lured isn’t yours. That having been said, I do want to be alone with you. To
talk
, and get to know you better. That’s why I didn’t suggest your place. You’ve got a full house.”

“True.” Devon weighed her options and decided to take the risk. “Okay, then, your place it is.”

A half hour later, seated on the taupe leather sofa in Blake’s oak-paneled living room, Devon wondered what she’d let herself in for. There was something warm and cozy about the three-story brownstone, despite the daunting fact that Blake owned the whole damned building. Everything was done in earth tones with rustic accents, including a wall-to-wall brick fireplace. It was very male, and very Blake.

Also very quiet and very private.

“Where’s Chomper?” Devon asked, half hoping the pup would come bounding into the room and lighten the atmosphere of intensity hovering around them.

“He’s staying overnight at your clinic,” Blake replied. He was standing at the sideboard, opening the bottle of Merlot. “He hates being alone. And I knew I’d be out late, so I arranged to pick him up tomorrow. Which works out fine, since he and I have an obedience class at eleven. I’ve got an eight thirty meeting at the office. Then I’ll shoot up to White Plains.”

An eight thirty meeting. That would be with Monty.

Devon kept her expression nondescript. “I’m sure Chomper’s being spoiled rotten. Our boarding staff prides themselves on that.”

“I got that impression.” Blake poured two glasses of wine and carried them over to the sofa. “Did you always want to be a vet?”

“Since I was a kid. I loved animals. I was fascinated by medicine. So I found a way to do both.” With a nod of thanks, Devon took the glass of wine, waiting until Blake had settled himself on the other side of the sofa. “What about you?” she asked. “Have you always wanted to be a bigwig in a family-owned, multimillion-dollar company?”

A chuckle. “Maybe not always, but close to it. I’ve always been fascinated by the restaurant industry. And I’ve always had a flair for business management, along with a thousand creative ideas. Combining all that into one career was too good to pass up. So I went for it.”

“Straight to Pierson & Company?”

“Nope. Not before paying my dues. My grandfather believes in family, but he also believes that busting your ass builds character and leads to success. He made it clear I needed the education and the experience before I’d be considered for a high-level position. So, off I went to Providence, Rhode Island.”

“Johnson and Wales?” Devon guessed.

“Uh-huh. Their food-service management program’s top-notch. I got my bachelor’s degree and went to work for the food-services division of Marriott for two years. After that, I went to NYU business school and got my MBA.
Then
I joined Pierson & Company. That was nine years ago. I’ve worked in every division.”

“Sounds like a great way to find your niche. Where’d you end up?”

“In none of them,” Blake returned drily. “No surprise. I’ve never been content with what is. I’m always envisioning what could be.”

“So you started something new?”

“Yup. Food services addresses the en masse crowds that go to sporting arenas. Fine dining addresses the limited, elite crowd who have sophisticated palates and deep pockets. That leaves a huge chunk of the population unaddressed — namely, families.”

“I see your point.”

Blake rolled his goblet between his palms. “I’m starting up a whole new division. Family dining.” He proceeded to explain Chomping at the Bit and where things stood on the project.

Even though Devon had read the basics in Monty’s notes, it was far more interesting hearing it from Blake’s perspective. “It sounds like a surefire winner,” she said sincerely. “The kids will be thrilled. The parents will be thrilled. Soon you’ll have restaurants all over the country. And the coffers at Pierson & Company will be even fuller.”

“That’s the plan.” A shadow flickered across his face. “At least it was. Right now, expansions are on hold. Other priorities trump them.”

“You’re talking about Frederick’s death.”

“Yes. His death leaves a gaping hole at Pierson & Company.”

That opened the door. Devon stepped through it carefully.

“I can’t imagine how debilitating this tragedy must be for you. Your personal and professional worlds, both thrown into chaos.”

“That pretty much sizes it up.”

“Did you report directly to Frederick?”

“Yes. But that’s the least of it. Besides being CEO, Frederick headed up the food-services division. I’ve been tapping into their resources — suppliers, contacts — anything to get Chomping at the Bit off the ground. With Frederick gone…let’s just say the situation’s bound to become complicated.”

Something in Blake’s tone made Devon press on. “Complicated how? I’m sure you can still access those contacts. Unless someone’s standing in your way,” she added, verbalizing her hunch as it dawned on her. “Someone like James, for instance.”

Blake shot her a sideways look. “Now
that’s
a loaded question. What exactly did you and James discuss last night?”

“Lots of things. Including you.” Now was the time for wary candor. “He said you’d be running Pierson someday, and that he’s fine with that. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sense some underlying resentment. Or maybe ‘resentment’s’ too strong a word.”

“No, I’d say it’s dead-on accurate.” Clearly, Blake wasn’t bothered by her assessment. “James is a good salesman and an exceptional rider. But he’s not great at sharing the limelight. He has a problem with my place at Pierson. How big a problem? Who knows. Especially now that his insecurities are being fed by my interest in you.”

“Great.” Devon grimaced. “I don’t want to escalate the tension.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can handle James. And he can handle me.”

“He said something similar.”

“What else did you two talk about?”

“The usual stuff. Work. Family. Oh, and the cutthroat world of competitive show jumping.”

“What business isn’t cutthroat? Mine’s just as bad.”

“Well, mine isn’t. It’s rewarding, humane, and honest. Maybe that’s why I like animals better than people.”

A corner of Blake’s mouth lifted. “Makes sense.”

“You, on the other hand, like being on the fast track.”

“If wanting every day to be a challenge is the fast track, then I’m on it.”

Devon took a sip of wine, deciding which road to take. She couldn’t just grill him about his family and/or Philip Rhodes. He’d see through that in an instant.

Maybe a one-eighty would catch him off guard.

“You’re a cut-to-the chase kind of guy,” she stated.

A wry grin. “You noticed.”

“It’s hard not to. You aren’t exactly subtle.”

“If you’re referring to my approach with you, subtle wasn’t what I was going for.”

“What were you going for?”

“Convincing. Is it working?”

“That depends.” She leaned forward, scrutinizing his expression. “Is your interest in me genuine, or is it put on so you can figure out if I know more than I’ve admitted about my mother’s whereabouts?”

A prolonged pause, during which Blake set down his goblet. “And you think
I’m
direct?”

“Fine. We’re both direct. Now, are you going to answer my question?”

“We’re also both loyal to our families.”

“Is that your way of intimating that you’re in this to spy for your grandfather?”

“And you? Are you here to pump me for information to share with your father? I’m sure you’re well aware of his role at Pierson.”

He was turning the tables on her, trying to turn her offense into a defense.

She had no intention of letting him.

“I know that Monty is your new head of security,” she responded without hesitation. “And I know he’ll bust his tail to find my mother. What else is it I’m supposed to know?”

“You tell me.”

“Frankly? My father and I aren’t exactly tight. He doesn’t confide in me. But if I know one thing, it’s that he’s a crackerjack investigator. If he’s working on solving Frederick’s murder, he’ll solve it. Your turn. Because you and your grandfather
are
close. Which means it’s far more likely you’re doing his bidding.”

“I don’t do anyone’s bidding. Not even my grandfather’s. However, you should know he’s stubborn as a mule. So, if your mother was in any way involved in Frederick’s death, he’ll find out —
and
he’ll find
her
, wherever she is.”

Devon set down her goblet with a thud. “My mother is
not
a killer.”

“Maybe not. But she did go up to that cabin with Frederick. Which means she’s the only living witness to the crime.”

“She didn’t witness anything.” Despite her rising anger, Devon realized she was being baited. “My father’s the one who spoke to her,” she continued, choosing her words carefully. “From what he said, she never saw the killer. Unfortunately,
he
saw
her
. Which is why she dropped out of sight, and why we’re all beside ourselves with worry.”

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through. But you can’t blame my grandfather for leaving no stone unturned. Frederick was his son.”

“I know. But the idea that my mother was in any way involved is insane. She’s the kindest, gentlest human being on earth.”

“From my own observations, she’s also down-to-earth and outdoorsy. Not really Frederick’s type.”

“As opposed to whom — Louise Chambers? I agree. Although I really can’t visualize your corporate counsel hiking in the Adirondacks. Still, I was surprised your uncle didn’t ask her, rather than my mother, to go with him. Unless, of course, Louise is unavailable to him now because she’s seeing someone else. You, for example.”

A glint of amusement lit Blake’s amber eyes. “Nice shot. Unfortunately, not a slam dunk. Why would you think Louise and I are involved?”

“She was on your arm when we met. The vibes were there. Am I wrong?”

“Yeah, but I like the fact that you’re jealous. It bodes well for what I have in mind.”

Devon sidestepped the innuendo. “Next you’re going to be telling me that you and Louise Chambers are ‘just friends.’”

“Hmm.” Blake considered the idea and shrugged. “Nope. We’re not that, either. We’re just good, old-fashioned business colleagues. So tell me, did James get a good-night kiss? Or did you send him away with a handshake?”

“Excuse me?” Devon started. “That’s none of your business.”

“Ah. My social life’s your business, but yours isn’t mine? Or were you asking about me and Louise for another reason?”

Devon gave a hard shake of her head. This battle of wits was turning into something as challenging and blood pumping as their snowball fight.

“Another reason?” she returned. “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Checking out alliances and alibis, maybe.”

“Why? Do you have any to share?”

“Not a one. Now that we’ve settled that, let’s get back to James. Did you or didn’t you kiss him?”

Half laughing, half-exasperated, Devon waved an imaginary white flag. “Okay. I give. Just be advised that I’m
not
a good loser.”

“Then I’ll quit while I’m ahead.” Abruptly, Blake stood, tugging her to her feet. “I want you in a good mood. Otherwise, you might slug me when I do this.” He drew her closer, tilted back her head, and covered her mouth with his.

It was meant to be an overture, an initial exploration of the physical attraction that sizzled between them.

The overture never happened. The kiss was out of control before it began.

Their lips brushed, circled — then fused, currents of sensation barreling through them. Blake muttered something indistinguishable and tore his mouth away, scrutinizing Devon with a burning gaze. Then he gave up the fight. He hauled her against him, nudged her lips apart, and took her mouth.

Devon was trembling, inside and out. She couldn’t begin to think, much less object. And the truth was, she wanted to do neither. What she was feeling was just too damned good. Resistance wasn’t an option.

She gave a low moan of pleasure, gripping handfuls of Blake’s sweater and following his lead.

The kiss took on a life of its own.

Like Blake, it was consuming, his mouth eating at hers, possessing her with an intensity that swirled through her in dizzying waves. His tongue swept inside, rubbing against hers in slow, erotic circles. His arms locked around her, drawing her closer, deeper into the wildness.

Long moments passed. The kiss went on and on, growing more heated, more intense, like a wildfire blazing out of control.

Devon wasn’t sure who grabbed hold of reality first. One minute the two of them were locked together, the next they were an arm’s length apart, staring at each other with dazed eyes and ragged breathing.