the phrase to “Oh, sugar,” but it seemed a little mild in view of the monstrosity looming in front of her. She decided there were three possibilities: No one was home, everyone was asleep, or this was all a bad dream. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and nudged the car onward. It was no big deal. She’d simply go on home and call him in the morning. She’d whip right around the big circular drive and get her fanny the heck out of here. No one would ever know. Not Vincent Price or Paddy O’Grady. Only the big stupid cows would know, and they looked like they could keep a secret.
She was well past the front entrance when she realized she’d passed Ken’s truck. Chris stopped and looked in her rearview mirror. Yes, it was definitely his truck. And it was parked at a rakish angle to the front entrance, leaving no doubt in her mind that he’d zoomed up to the house, screeched to a stop, and run inside. She chewed her lip, threw her hands into the air, and shifted into reverse. What the heck!
At the front door, Chris stiffened her back and searched for a doorbell, but she couldn’t find one in the darkness. She rapped on the massive block of carved wood and waited. Nothing. She put her ear to the door and listened. Silence. “Well,” she said out loud to bolster her spirits, “good thing I have a key.” She cracked her knuckles and looked around. Now or never, she told herself. Anyway, what was the big deal? He’d given her a key to his house, and this was his house. So, why shouldn’t she use the key? Holding her breath, she closed her eyes and plunged the key into the big gold lock. The ornate door swung open easily, revealing a foyer large enough to accommodate a soccer match. Chris took a cursory glance at polished wood banisters and massive oil paintings and focused her attention on a ray of light sliding under a doorjamb toward the back of the house. A shiver ran down her spine as she walked across the marble floor. It was like being in a deserted hotel. It was hard to believe anyone actually lived here. Especially Ken. Ken who colored Pilgrims orange and purple, and who loved cookies and baked macaroni.
Chris followed the light and stopped just outside the half-open door. The sounds of a crackling fire and television drifted out to her. She peeked inside and saw that this was a library. The walls were lined with leather- bound volumes, the floors were covered with oriental rugs, and the furniture consisted of massive manly leather chairs and an enormous leather-topped, chairman-of-the-board-type desk. The room was dominated by a stone fireplace that stretched across half a wall. Chris recognized a familiar form hunched in front of the fire and raised a hand to her mouth in relief and astonishment. Ken and Bob the dog were roasting hot dogs and watching TV.
“What on earth are you doing?” Chris grinned.
Ken turned and stood. One hand dangled at his side. The other held a long fork with a black hot dog speared on the end. He wore jeans and a faded T-shirt. His ebony hair was backlighted by the fire. It was in need of a cut again, falling in waves over his ears, and Chris felt her heart flip as a broad smile flashed white in his permanently tanned face. “I’m cooking supper.”
Chris looked at the small television set on the floor. “And watching TV?”
“Just for the noise. I hate this house. It’s like living in a mausoleum.”
“Where is everybody? Aren’t there servants?”
“A whole pack of them. A butler, a cook, a chauffeur, and God knows how many maids.”
Chris raised her eyebrows.
“I know what you’re thinking, but these maids are old. I inherited them with the house, and there’s not a single one that doesn’t need support hose.”
“So where are they?”
Ken tested his hot dog with his finger to see if it was hot. “My estate supervisor is having a crew come in to paint this barn and thought it would be easier if he didn’t have to deal with my decrepit household staff, so we sent the old folks off for a week.”
Chris regarded the lone frankfurter. “This looks like fun, but couldn’t you construct a more nourishing meal in the kitchen?”
“My cook would kill me if I got anything out of place. And besides, the kitchen scares the hell out of me. It’s all stainless steel-cabinets, appliances, and pots and pans. It reminds me of the embalming room in a morgue. The only thing missing is a tilt-top table.”
Chris smiled and knelt in front of the fire. “This library’s nice.”
“It’s my favorite room.” He put the hot dog on a plate on the hearth and gestured to a large window opposite the desk. “That window opens on the back of the house. I can sit here and watch the cows.”
Chris looked at him in wonderment. Kenneth Knight…watching cows?
He grinned at her. “I like cows.”
Chris burst out laughing. “You like everything.”
He sat beside her on the rug. He reached out and twirled a strand of her hair, causing goose bumps to erupt over ninety percent of her body. “I like you.”
Chris turned her eyes to the fire while she tried to catch her breath. She felt his hand trail along the line of her jaw and drop to the zipper on her jacket.
He slid the zipper down and parted her jacket, revealing a soft yellow cotton sweater. When he finally raised his eyes to hers, they were black with passion. “I see you’re wearing my ring.”
“Mmmmm.” Chris smiled, discarding her jacket. “I had to use the cup for hot chocolate and didn’t have any place else to put the ring.” She leaned forward and ran her hands under his shirt, smoothing them across his tight stomach. “Why are you having the house painted? Planning on having a party? Or a wedding reception, maybe?”
Ken blinked. “The house painted?” He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. “Honey, if you want me to answer questions, you’re going to have to stop touching me!”
Chris drew away from him. “I do have a few questions…”
“Mmmm.”
“Do you still want to marry me?”
His eyes held hers in solemn adoration. “Yes.”
Chris felt tears trickle down the back of her throat. She loved him so desperately, but she had to ask. “About your work, will a family interfere? All that traveling that you do…”
“All that traveling has ended. I’ve spent the last six months consolidating and selling and transferring power to good people. I’m not chairman-of-the-board material. I like being in jeans and sweatshirts and taking my dog to work with me.” He stirred the logs in the fireplace. “I’m not nearly as rich as I’ve been made out to be, but I’m very comfortable.”
“Comfortable enough to afford a skating rink as a ‘toy’?”
“Yes. But I don’t really consider it a toy. I think what you’re doing is important. I want Patti to have her chance. I like the idea of helping young athletes.” He grinned his little-boy grin at her. “I’ve hired myself as rink manager-not only will we be able to work together, but I’ll get to run the Zamboni!”
Chris smiled at the thought of Ken atop the Zamboni. “I love you.”
“Does that mean I should cancel Zanzibar?”
Chris lowered her eyes and heard a sound emerge from deep in her throat. Something between a purr and a growl. She unbuttoned his shirt.
Ken fell back onto the rug and pulled Chris on top of him. “Okay, vixen,” he growled, smiling huskily, “what other sweet tortures are you going to inflict on me?”
Chris looked at him in mock innocence. “I don’t know what you mean by sweet tortures.”
He rolled her over and straddled her. His eyes were soft and molten, heavy lidded with hungry passion. “Sweet tortures,” he repeated. “Like this.” He leaned forward and kissed her parted lips, allowing her to sample only a small portion of the passion he held for her. “I’ve had two long weeks of sleepless nights to think of sweet tortures,” he whispered. “It will take me a lifetime to show them all to you.”
About the Author
Bestselling author JANET EVANOVICH is the winner of the New Jersey Romance Writers Golden Leaf Award and multiple Romantic Times awards, including Lifetime Achievement. She is also a longstanding member of
