Secret Nights at Nine Oaks (5 page)

“See, I knew you were smart.”

“Put that mop down and let the servants do their jobs, Phoebe.”

Phoebe glanced around at the stoic faces, then leaned the mop against the counter and marched right up to Cain. “Excuse me?”

“I said—”

“I heard you. Are you giving me orders, Cain Blackmon?”

“I'm warning you not to bother my employees in their jobs.”

“Or else? Or you'll what? Toss me out? Be grouchier than you already are?” She poked at his chest as she spoke. “Well, let me tell you, Augustus Cain Blackmon the fourth, I don't take kindly to you growling at me.” The more she poked, the farther Cain stepped back out of the kitchen. “You can hand that ogre-in-the-castle stuff to everyone else, but not me. Got that?”

“You're interfering with the workings of this house!”

“Really, show me then?” She gestured around herself. “There is nothing to do. You don't use most of the house. The flowers are in bloom in the solarium, did you know that? The furniture in there still has the packaging from the store on it. Heck, there's enough groceries in that kitchen to feed a battalion of Marines, and enough rooms in here to house them all. But it's just you, Cain, no one else. It's a waste. All these people around for
your
beck and call? Honestly, fend for yourself once and—”

“And you're changing the subject,” he butted in.

She looked away, then back and muttered, “Yeah well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Cain stared down at her, liking the spark of anger in her eyes. She wasn't the least bit intimidated by him when most people ran for cover. Part of him wondered if he was just looking for an excuse to growl when she was having a good time with the servants because Lily barely spoke to them except to give orders. Comparing the women made him angry again, and as if she could tell, she backed up.

“Regardless of what is used or wasted, it's my decision and I'm asking you to leave them to their jobs.”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

Hers narrowed right back. “They're my friends and I won't stop speaking to them because you demand it. And because they are all working like nuts for you, the only time I can is while they are at their jobs. So no. I won't leave them be.”

Cain gritted his teeth, wanting to shake her. Or kiss her.

And when she spoke, her voice was lower, softer. “Your staff are grateful for the jobs, but I don't think they like you very much. Do you want to live like that? Intimidating everyone?”

No, he didn't. It was five years of loneliness that made him feel so on edge. Or was it just that she was near, tempting him? “Except you?”

“I don't have a stake in ticking you off. They do.” She gazed up into his dark eyes. “Life would be more pleasant around here if you didn't snap at everyone. These people practically fear you!”

He arched a brow, a look that said it wasn't a concern.

Her gaze thinned.

Cain felt inspected and found lacking.

“I don't like you right now.”

“Really?”

“No, not at all.” She marched back into the kitchen, apologizing to the staff for
his
behavior, then walked past him without a glance and down the long hall.

“Phoebe,” he called.

She just put her hand up behind her head, waved him off and kept going. When she was out of sight, Cain stared at the floor, his polished shoes, the pristine floor, then lifted his gaze to the immaculate house—not a speck of dust, not a thing out of its precise place.

He almost, in that moment, wished for messy, for lived-in, for the sound of voices and laughter he'd heard just moments ago. She was right, it was as if no one lived here. Like a museum of fine things no one appreciated. Or used.

Cain pushed his fingers through his hair and let out a long-suffering sigh. He stepped into the kitchen, apologized, then went to his office, suddenly hating the four walls and himself.

 

That evening, Cain sat at the table in the formal dining room, waiting.

She didn't arrive.

But Benson did.

“Well? She demanded this meal with me, where is she?”

Benson cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Miss Phoebe has decided to dine in her room, sir.”

Cain hated the pity in Benson's eyes, though he'd never let it show in his face.

“She did have a message for you.”

“I'll bet. Well, what is it?”

“She agrees to stay on her side of the house, sir. With pleasure.”

Cain's features pulled taut. He stood, leaving the aromatic meal behind and headed back to his office.

He didn't make it, glancing up the staircase and shaking his head. The woman wasn't even around and she was turning him inside out.

“Shall I bring your dinner into the office, sir,” Benson said.

“No, thank you.”

Cain started to walk away, then said, “Wait, I'll take that.” Cain gathered the plate, napkin and utensils from the tray Benson held.

“Sir?”

“Go relax, Benson. Take a break.” The butler's brows shot up. “I'm fine,” Cain assured him, suddenly realizing that he let Benson cater to him and had gotten too used to the fact. But then, Benson was his only company.

Cain walked to the solarium, stepped inside, then set the plate down before he stripped the plastic off the new furniture.

He sat at the little bistro table in the corner, his feet propped on another chair, eating alone, staring at the abundance of color bursting in the sunny room. The paddle fan overhead moved the sweet fragrances around him.

This was his mother's favorite room. She swore to all, she'd married his father just so she could enjoy it. And halfway through his dinner, Cain faced the fact that Phoebe was right. Damn it. He hadn't enjoyed his own house. Even after he'd spent a fortune restoring it.

Good God. There would be no living with her now.

That was
if
she decided to speak with him again.

C
ain pulled at the sash to his robe and paused at the top of the staircase, looking toward the opposite wing, knowing Phoebe was there somewhere down that long hall.

He hadn't seen her in two days. Good to her word, she'd kept to the east wing. Once in awhile he'd hear her voice, drawn by it, but when he looked, she was gone, off doing God knew what, far from him.

She was like a mystical being, darting off into the forest when the evil human came near.

It made his isolation feel more pronounced than it was before she arrived. It shouldn't matter, he told
himself, but he didn't like knowing that she was mad at him.

Nor did he like how he'd treated her. He wanted to apologize, but seeking her was out of the question. Alone with Phoebe was not a good thing.

Especially at night.

He descended the stairs, intent on the kitchen and something to quiet the growling in his stomach and perhaps make him sleep. Her insomnia was catching, he thought. He knew of it because Benson reported that she prowled the house at odd hours or that the lights were on in her suite nearly constantly.

Cain wondered if he was here because he hoped to run into her. And what kept her from sleeping? Her attacker was in jail, and the trial was set for a couple of weeks from now. Was she still afraid? She'd nothing to fear here at Nine Oaks, that was for certain.

He stepped into the kitchen, reaching for the switch when he saw a figure sitting on the worktable. The light over the range glowed enough for him to recognize her. She looked over her shoulder toward him, but he couldn't see her face. Then she turned away quickly and Cain could swear she was wiping at her eyes.

“Phoebe, are you okay?”

If okay meant being woken by nightmares,
Phoebe thought. She was actually relieved he'd interrupted her. The pity party was getting really pathetic. “Sure I am. Come in, I won't bite.”

“Just as well, I'm in no mood to battle.”

“Like that would matter to me?”

Cain smirked to himself and moved into the kitchen, flipping on another light.

She immediately closed her robe a little tighter, suddenly aware they were both in pajamas.

He looked at her snack selection. “Ice cream? At this hour?”

“Anytime is good for Rocky Road.” She shoved a scoop into her mouth and smiled hugely.

He sensed it was forced, noticing the redness in her eyes, but he didn't pry. He opened the refrigerator, staring into it, then gathered the makings of a sandwich and set it on the worktable near her. He went for bread and a cutting board and then started slicing.

“Benson said you've been up late a lot. Do you even try to sleep?” he asked.

She dug into the tub of ice cream. “Sure. Count sheep, imagine a white room, clear my thoughts with meditation. Nothing works. Drugs are just too easy to get dependent on.”

“You keep thinking of him, don't you?”

Her head snapped up, her expression sharp.
“Yeah, some.” She deflated, like a barrier sliding away. “Rational thought tells me he's locked up, but I can't help the feeling that—” her shoulders moved restlessly “—that he's behind me, watching.”

“He isn't.”

“But he's rich enough to get out on bail, Cain. His lawyers have already smeared my reputation and warned me that I couldn't put him away.” She clamped her lips shut, fighting the wave of fear that came.

“He will go to jail.” Cain sliced roast beef, waiting till she gathered her composure, though his arms ached to comfort her. “What did he do to you?”

She hopped off the table and put the ice cream back in the freezer. “He taunted me,” she said carelessly, but Cain heard the fear still lingering in her tone. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Fine. Sandwich?”

She shook her head, but snatched a slice of meat anyway.

Cain was surprised she didn't rush off, but stayed near, watching him, then lifted her gaze to his face. He didn't have to make eye contact to know it. He could feel it on his skin. It raised the tension in the large room, narrowing the space around them. He felt charged, crackling with her energy. Cain could smell her perfume, sense the cloth lying against her skin,
the soundless slide of silk. And the memory of kissing her so wildly poured through his brain and doused his body with desire.

He swallowed hard and lifted his gaze to hers. “I'm sorry, Phoebe.”

“Since we exchanged some nasty words, I'll ask for what?”

“For all of it, for the way I spoke to you, treated you the other day.”

She met his gaze. “I forgive you.”

His brow shot up.

She smiled. “I'm not as hard-nosed as you think, Cain. Don't give me orders again, though.”

“I should have remembered that you never did like restrictions.”

“That's from a childhood of everyone knowing what I was up to and squealing to my parents. Which got me grounded and watched even harder.”

“I know the feeling. I had a houseful of people that knew what I was up to constantly.”

“Yeah, but you were the boss.”

“Not always.”

She rolled her eyes. “Get real. Might as well have been. No one is going to stop the prince of Nine Oaks from doing what he wants.”

He spread mayo on the bread and slapped together a sandwich. “Are you saying I'm spoiled?”

Phoebe fetched him a plate. “Yes, of course you are.”

He didn't use it, cutting the sandwich and eating it off the table. “Good God, you are blunt. Why do I feel a lecture coming?” he said, then bit into the sandwich.

She nipped a pickle from the pile he'd sliced. “Want one? I hate being lectured. But now that you asked…”

He swallowed fast to defend himself. “I didn't.”

“Coward.”

That brow shot up, looking more darling to her than menacing. She didn't think he'd want to hear that observation. “You're used to everyone jumping to your tune.”

Except her. She danced to her own music. He liked that about her, but felt the need to put in his two cents. “How about you? You want everyone to be on the same tempo—
yours.
Which is high-octane and in fast-forward.”

“True,” she admitted, shocking him. She started putting away the food. “But life is too short to waste it on anything, except doing what you want.”

“But you're not doing what you want. You're here, hiding out.”

“From the press and phone calls. And hello? Don't throw stones, Blackmon. Why have you refused to leave this place in five years?”

Instantly his mood changed. Phoebe felt it as if a
door slammed somewhere. His body tensed, eyes shuttered. “Don't dissect me.”

Slowly she set down a jar and inched closer, forcing him to look at her. He was so darkly handsome, she thought, dressed in rich satins, looking very powerful and wealthy. And incredibly sad.

“You opened this subject, Cain.”

Her voice was so gentle Cain felt an ache burst in his chest. He set the last half of the sandwich down, pushing away the plate. “I'm sorry I did.”

“You loved her that much?”

His head snapped up, his gaze sharp and suddenly icy.

“Your wife, Lily. She must have been a wonderful person.”

“Is that what you think? That I'm mourning her?” Oh for pity sake, Cain thought. The rest of the world thought that, but he didn't want Phoebe believing the lie. Yet he wouldn't tell her the truth, either.

“Well, yes…no, I mean, my mind doesn't sit still so I can think of all sorts of reasons, but Suzannah believes—”

“Suzannah hasn't a clue.”

“Because you won't confide in her.”

“She doesn't need to know and neither do you.”

She reared back for a second, hurt by the razor bite in his tone. For a moment, he looked so tortured
and ashamed that she knew she had to be misreading the look.

“Cain? Look at me.”

He didn't, closing jars and wrapping food instead. “Don't think I'm so noble, Phoebe. You'll be sorely disappointed.”

He strode out abruptly, leaving her feeling suddenly cold and unprotected. She stared at the empty doorway for a moment, then finished cleaning up the mess. She stopped to eat the untouched half of his sandwich and as she munched, one thing stuck in her thoughts: he wasn't mourning Lily. So why on earth was he torturing himself with hiding away here?

 

“Don't look at me like that, Benson,” Phoebe said. “He'll do it.”

Benson's stoic expression spoke his doubt. “I wish only to spare you heartache, Miss Phoebe.” The butler handed her the picnic basket and draped the blanket over her arm. “He will not join you.”

“Doesn't hurt to try, does it?”

Phoebe understood his concern and she was touched, since a wiser, more sensible part of herself agreed with him, and warned her to leave Cain alone, mind her own business and enjoy the estate.

Yet another part of her ached for the man he'd become. The one she saw last night. Gone were the
easy smiles, the charm from years ago. Though his mere presence still set her heart pounding and her body—well…on fire, it was her soul that cried for him.

Like I've known him for centuries, she thought again.

She ignored the fact that by focusing on him she didn't have time to think about Kreeg and his band of lawyers and what else she'd lose. Those problems seemed so trivial right now. The wiser part of her lost. Easily.

It was her nature to interfere.

Especially when Benson told her that although they'd argued, Cain waited for her in the dining room to join her for dinner. As far as she was concerned, she owed him a meal.

She walked briskly out the front door, then around the west wing toward the veranda outside the library. The best way to get him to come with her would be to coax him out on this beautiful day. Which he could see from his cave.

Tempt him with food, she thought, and rapped on the glass door, waiting, her stomach in knots.

Cain left his chair, frowning and wondering who the hell was disturbing him from the patio. When he flung open the door, he was struck first by how beautiful she was in the afternoon light, the sun gleam
ing off her hair blowing in the breeze, the bright smile she offered despite how he'd snapped at her last night. When he finally dragged his gaze from her compact body in shorts and a simple T-shirt, and those incredible legs, he saw the basket on her arm.

“No.”

Her smile melted, and he hated himself for it.

“But you haven't heard my proposition.”

“It's rather obvious, Phoebe.”

“Aren't you hungry? Wouldn't you like a break from that dark dismal room with all those computers and phone calls and people bugging you?”

“Does that include you?”

“Of course not,” she said with an easy smile. If she had to use force, she would, and she grabbed his arm, pulling him toward her and out into the sun. He actually squinted against the brightness, and Phoebe knew she was doing the right thing.

“It's gorgeous, breezy and just look at the million-dollar view.” She gestured to the flowers blooming, the live oaks elegantly festooned with Spanish moss. “Come on. Play with me.”

The implication shot through him like a crack of lightning, and Cain stiffened. Her look dared him, invited him. Hell. He wanted to do much more than play with her. And he couldn't. Not with Phoebe. He'd be consumed whole if he let himself indulge in
her, even if she was only suggesting a picnic. God help him, he didn't want to hurt this woman. And he knew, eventually, he would.

“Phoebe, I know you mean well and you think you're trying to help, but I do not want it.”

“Help with what?”

“Me. My life.”

She gave him a long look up and down that ignited his blood, then said, “You're a grown man, and don't need my help. Whatever reasons that you've made yourself a recluse, it's your business. I'm bored and while I enjoy my own company, I want to have a picnic and I'd love for you to join me.”

“You aren't giving up on this, are you?”

“Nope. Face it. I'll be a nuisance.”

She got behind him, giving him a push, and Cain smiled when he didn't move. She kept trying like a kid who wanted someone to ride the roller coaster with her and could find no takers.

“I have work to do.”

“You're the boss, take a day off. And if you say your company can't stand the inattention, then you're not that good at running it.”

He twisted to look at her. “That's a gauntlet you've thrown down, m'lady.”

“Then pick it up, m'lord.” She winked. “Take the challenge.”

Cain wanted to go, he truly did. Spending a couple of hours with her was like drinking in sunshine. And she was her usual energetic and impatient self. It was addicting.

“All right, but let me change.”

“Oh no,” she said, pushing him toward the stone path. “It's a ‘Come as you are' party. You're not getting a chance to talk yourself out of this.”

“God, you're an imp.” And a delight, he thought.

“So what else is new?” She flashed him that smile, and Cain felt a renewing feeling race through him when he saw it.

He took the basket from her. “Good grief, what's in here?”

“Jean Claude's Cajun fried chicken…”

“For an army?”

“Oh, there's more, but it's a surprise.” They walked toward the shore.

Cain felt apprehension creep up his spine. He hadn't been near the water in a long time.

“Want to take a boat ride?”

“No.” And he didn't want her to take one, either.

“Okay, fine. The docks then.”

“I'd rather not.”

“Be brave, I'll protect you,” she said, already walking briskly toward the pier.

Cain watched her go, his hands on his hips. The
woman was rather comfortable with her own stubbornness. She headed toward the open-air gazebo at the end of one dock. It was more of a place to sit and relax while watching the movement on the river than to dock the boats. Cain hadn't been here in five years.