Chapter Two
After a solitary meal, she drew a warm bath in the whirlpool and relaxed with a good mystery in the sybaritic splendor.
Finally giving in to fatigue, she snuggled down in Lily’s large bed. It was early, not yet ten. But she hadn’t adjusted to West Coast time yet. She could scarcely stay up beyond nine, and awoke with the birds.
So much for life in the fast lane.
Logan Beckett dropped the flight bags inside his front door and ran his hand behind his neck, trying to ease some of the stress and fatigue that gripped him.
He should have stayed over in New York. Trips from Europe straight to the West Coast were killers.
He’d passed dead tired a few hours ago, yet if he went to bed now as the sun rose, he’d wake up as it set and have to adjust all over again tomorrow.
Might as well bite the bullet today. If he could make it until late afternoon, he’d sleep until morning and quickly readjust to California time.
His house felt hot and stuffy. Hadn’t the cleaning service followed his instructions about airing it out? He’d faxed them day before yesterday—Italian time—that he’d be home today.
Hungry and roaming the kitchen for something to eat, he finally slammed a cupboard door shut.
The service he’d hired sure hadn’t lived up to its reputation.
There was nothing to eat in the house. Not even instant coffee to give him a much needed caffeine fix.
Blast it all. He didn’t want to drive to the nearest coffee shop.
He rubbed his dry eyes, his hand moving to his jaw to scratch the day-old beard. He needed caffeine or bed, and while bed sounded more appealing, he refused to give in to fatigue.
Coffee, industrial strength and enough to float a battleship, would wake him up enough to read his mail and unpack. A swim later would keep sleep at bay. He looked at the house next door, it was a lot closer than driving back into town. Everything was still.
Was Lily even home? Sleeping most likely if she were.
Well, neighbors were supposed to be helpful, and it was high time he tapped into some help.
He rummaged around in his drawer and found her house key.
Whistling softly, he crossed the yard separating their houses and knocked quietly on the door.
After several minutes, he let himself in.
He’d come over a few times during the two years they’d been next-door neighbors, sometimes to share a meal, other times to borrow something.
He didn’t think Lily would mind if he helped himself to some coffee.
He sauntered into the kitchen and pulled the beans from the refrigerator, noticing that she’d apparently just gone shopping—her refrigerator was full.
He hesitated once he had the bag in hand. Maybe he’d use her machine. He’d make enough coffee to keep himself awake until evening, and brew an extra cup or two for Lily. Have it ready for her when she awoke as thanks for lending him some.
If he felt energetic enough after he had a few sips, he’d even make breakfast. They’d shared breakfast a few times—enough for him to know how she liked her eggs. And if she wasn’t awake by the time he finished cooking, he’d make it breakfast in bed. Wouldn’t that shock her?
Of course he’d have to find her bedroom first. He’d never been upstairs.
Logan poured the hot strong coffee into his cup. The aroma alone issued a wake-up call. He added a heaping teaspoon of sugar, not for the sweetness, but for the extra energy. Running on low, he needed all the help he could get to stay awake.
He burned his mouth with his first gulp, yet waited only a couple of seconds before taking another.
Cup raised to his lips, he paused when he heard something. Smiling, he sipped again. Lily must be stirring. The fragrance of the coffee probably woke her. He glanced at his watch, not even seven. She was going to be royally annoyed at the hour.
Stepping warily into the doorway, Emma came to a halt, startled to see a man leaning against the counter casually sipping coffee and looking right at home.
The pot in the coffee-maker was almost full.
Since the tantalizing aroma had awakened her, that was no surprise.
Studying him gravely, her heart pounded.
Who was he? Obviously someone who knew her sister well enough to make himself at home.
“Morning, Lily” he said, raising the cup in salute. “Want a cup?”
Emma nodded, in surprise. He thought she was Lily.
Yesterday after Lily left, Emma had played the part of her sister by dressing up in her clothes, wandering through the house, imagining how exciting Lily’s life must be.
Now this morning a friend of her sister’s actually thought she was Lily. Amazed, she remained in the doorway, wondering who he was. A close friend, by his presence, by the ease in which he made himself at home. Just how close?
He was tall, even slouched against the counter.
Tall, dark and handsome. What a cliché—yet in this case totally true.
He either lived at the beach or spent a fortune in a tanning salon.
His skin was a deep dark tan, the kind that came from sailing or surfing all summer.
His dark hair, which fell forward with no regard to style, grew thick and shaggy, yet because of it, holding a certain appeal.
She wanted to brush the errant strands off his forehead, see if they could be tamed. Startled at the intensity of that desire, she clenched her hands into fists. She didn’t even know the man, where had that wild thought come from?
Meeting his gaze, she discovered startling green eyes. She expected brown. Emma couldn’t think of anyone she knew with green eyes. His shone like emeralds, brilliant, deep, and sparkling with vitality as they calmly surveyed her over the rim of a coffee cup.
Realizing his gaze skimmed her at a leisurely pace, she looked down to make sure her robe was fastened.
She’d grabbed it in a hurry when she thought she heard something, or someone, downstairs.
Touching the floor, the prim yellow terry-cloth robe was nothing like the lacy confections she’d seen in her sister’s closet.
“You’re buttoned from tip to toe. Why the modesty? Is this the real you when you aren’t playing glamour queen?” he asked casually, his eyes studying her.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she said slowly, stalling for time. She’d promised herself she’d fling caution to the wind and enjoy this vacation, be as wild as she liked.
Now suddenly someone who knew her sister mistook her for Lily. Dare she play the role of her sister for a few minutes—like a part in a movie?
The challenge tantalized, the notion wild and outrageous. She knew they looked alike, but could she fool one of her sister’s friends, even for a little while? Or would she blow it as soon as she opened her mouth?
Trying to imagine what her twin would do, Emma stared at him while she thought of and discarded a dozen ideas. To begin with, Lily wouldn’t wear a floor-length terry robe. Not if the nothing-confections upstairs were her usual attire.
Her heart began to pound as she considered continuing the charade. Maybe she could do it. And if she was discovered, who would she hurt? Embarrass herself a bit, perhaps, but nothing more.
He tilted his head, his expression giving nothing away. Slowly he raised the cup and drank again, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I just got in,” he said.
“From?” she asked.
Lily would know. Of course, Lily knew him and wouldn’t need to question him. She felt as if she were crossing a pond of ice, fearful of breaking through and plunging into water over her head.
Dare she find out how good she was at acting? Did that talent run in the family? Then again, maybe her idea of pretending to be Lily was stupid. Who did she really think she could fool? Despite their looks, they were nothing alike.
“Europe,” he said impatiently.
God, this wasn’t Pierre, was it? The only picture she’d seen of her brother-in-law had been blurred as he’d been turning when it was snapped. Pierre was tall with dark hair. Lily’s ex-husband would know in two seconds she wasn’t his former wife.
Suddenly the daring thoughts of stepping into Lily’s shoes seemed childish and foolish.
How could she pretend to be Lily Rambeau?
Much as she might enjoy life in the fast lane for a week or two, there was too much she didn’t know about her sister to fool anyone.
Like who this gorgeous man was for starters and why he felt he had a right to invade Lily’s kitchen at—
She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even seven.
He noticed her look and smiled.
“Early for you. I’m surprised you got up.”
Slowly she looked at him again. She wished he would stop staring at her. Her skin tingled and felt too tight. She didn’t like the sensation, yet didn’t know how to stop feeling so...so aware of him as a man. Or herself as a woman.
He needed a shave, and she wanted to run her fingertips over the scruff of his beard. His clothes were wrinkled, as if he’d slept in them. He looked tired, leaning against the counter. And she wanted to offer him a bed.
A bed?
To rest in, not to—
She took a breath, she couldn’t just blurt out that she didn’t know him. Yet if she didn’t find out soon, she would give herself away.
“Aren’t you going to give me a big kiss hello?” he asked softly, amusement lurking beneath his tone, showing in his eyes.
He didn’t move. Sprawled against her counter, his legs spread to hold him, the cup again tilted against his lips, he looked as blatantly masculine as any man she’d ever come in contact with.
She wasn’t used to men like this. Was he typical of California men?
Or was he Pierre Antoine Rambeau? She’d never met her sister’s husband.
They had married hurriedly, no time for a fancy wedding, to their mother’s dismay.
And of course Lily never came to Charlottesville, so the family hadn’t met her husband before the divorce. There had been no need once they separated.