“Yes. That Heathcliff. I think he’s bitter and lonely. He must have loved someone and lost them. Brooding. Yes, definitely brooding.”
Alma giggled. “Oh, so you know this from a brief glimpse? Tell me more.”
She could picture Alma sinking down on a bar stool, her grin reflecting in the aged mirror that ran the length of the counter. “Yes. I was in the garden and it started raining and...I looked up and there he was, staring at me as if he’d just walked out of the pages of a historical romance novel.”
“Were you doing the rain dance thing?”
Callie twirled her wet ponytail. “Uh, maybe. Is that bad?”
“No, no. Not bad at all. I’m sure he enjoyed watching you do that silly dance.”
“He was watching. I mean, I felt him watching. I saw him at the window.” Callie went into panic mode. “What if he fires me?”
Alma laughed. “For dancing in the rain? That’s not grounds for firing someone.”
“But...I wasn’t actually doing my job.”
“You can’t dig dirt in the rain.”
“Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding might think differently.”
Callie turned at the sound of footsteps and saw the very man she’d been talking about standing there staring at her. Again. “Uh, gotta go.”
She put away her phone and wiped a hand across her wet hair. “Hello. I’m Callie.”
“And apparently I’m Mr.—what was that?—Tall, Dark and Brooding.”
Callie’s wet skin chilled with a hot blush. She couldn’t speak. So she just stood there.
He stepped closer, giving her the full view. Nice, expensive suit, dark sleek hair that curled over his collar in a rebel way. The bluest of blue eyes with dark brows that slashed across his forehead in a perpetual brooding way. Midnight eyes would be cliché. Ocean maybe, but only the deepest, bluest of oceans. Disturbing blue. Yes, disturbing ocean-blue eyes.
Disturbing blue brooding eyes that stayed on her like a spyglass searching for interlopers. Glinting. He was definitely a glinter.
Callie’s blush crept like kudzu over her and through her. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m the landscaper. I mean, I’m here to work in the garden, to...redo your yard. Nick Santiago hired me.”
“I know who you are,” he replied, his voice as rough as aged cypress bark. “I saw you out the window.” He kept staring. “And I’m pretty sure you know who I am—my real name I mean.”
“You’re Tomas Delacorte. Nice to finally meet you.”
He nodded but didn’t return the acknowledgment. “You’re wet.”
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, wishing she could turn into rain and just wash away. “I was—”
He put his hands in the pockets of his trousers and frowned. “Dancing. In the rain.”
She didn’t have anywhere to put her hands. “Uh, yes. It’s kind of a thing I have....”
The rain turned into a full-blown storm with lashing sheets of water and wind that made her shiver. Callie put her arms against her midsection to ward off the chill from her wet shirt. Maybe these goose bumps weren’t from being wet. Maybe this was because of him. He glinted at her without moving.
She turned. “I should just go.”
He lifted one hand and motioned her toward him. “Come inside out of the rain.”
Not used to being ordered, good looks aside, Callie formed her own frown. “I need to get back to town.”
“Not in this storm. Come inside. I insist.”
When she stood there, frozen and wondering how to get away, he walked a step closer. “Please. I promise I won’t lock you in the dungeon.”
“You have a dungeon?”
He laughed—almost. And she fell in love. Almost.
Oh, what a beautiful, chiseled face he had. She imagined what it must look like when he truly laughed. What a lovely smile he’d have. Callie decided he probably didn’t smile very often. The glint in his eyes changed to a sparkle for just a brief second. So she took this as a rare gift and enjoyed it.
But...she couldn’t be in love with him. She’d keep this instant crush to herself. It was the shock of finally meeting him after weeks of speculations, after weeks of her vivid imagination taking over her brain cells. Get over that, she told herself. You don’t know this man. You don’t even need to know this man. You are content with your life, and you have Elvis.
Elvis, her big mutt of a dog, would probably scare this straight-out-of-a-menswear-magazine man right out of Fleur. Maybe not scare, but annoy. This man looked like he could become annoyed very easily. And she, Callie Moreau, was known to be the annoying type—the friendly, always sunny, always positive type. So was her dog. Luckily, she’d left Elvis back at the nursery since she’d planned to come and do a quick inspection and then get back to town. She’d been so excited about finally being able to get her hands on the massive, overgrown garden that surrounded Fleur House.
This might not work out so well, after all.
He motioned to her again then pointed toward the big French doors. “We have a basement, but...I’ll have Margie and Eunice make you a cup of tea.” He frowned. “Isn’t that what women love—a good cup of hot tea?”
“This woman does.” She marched toward the open, waiting door. “And I’m starving. Do you have anything to eat?”
* * *
“I have a cook,” Tomas said, irritated that she had somehow invaded his private space, even more irritated that he’d let her do it by inviting her inside. “And a maid. I’m sure they can feed you something.”
“And they could both be on break and probably watching their favorite soap opera.” Callie shook her head and smiled that breathtaking smile. “I don’t need any help. I—we—don’t live like that around here, Lord Delacorte.”
The sting of that comment pricked his solid armor. He walked to the door off the kitchen and called out, “Margie? Eunice?” Then he pivoted back to Callie. “You don’t approve of me having a cook and a maid?”
“Not my business.” She pointed to the big, industrial stove. “This kitchen is amazing. Brenna told me it was lovely, but it goes beyond that. It’s so...beautiful. Not as fancy as I expected. A good working kitchen. Every woman’s dream.”
Tomas had to admit it was refreshing to find such a down-to-earth woman. A woman who brought this kitchen to life. But her iridescence was too bright. So he covered his awe with gruffness. “Do you want some tea or not?”
She gave him an exaggerated frown, then toughened her voice. “Yes, but I can make it myself.”
Was she mocking him?
The cook and her sister, the housekeeper, both bustled into the room. Hired help, but more like family, they looked at Callie, smiled, then turned to him. “Tomas, did you need something?”
Tomas held up his ringing cell phone but answered Margie before he took the call. “Tea and food, for our guest.”
“Hi,” Callie said, smiling. “I’m Callie and I can make my own tea. Iced or hot, either way is good.”
“Nonsense,” Eunice replied. The two women started chattering away as they went about serving Callie.
Tomas nodded to Margie and Eunice, then turned and left the room. But he couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the feminine introductions and laughter coming from