The Kerrigan Towers was ripe for the plucking. And Robert had come to Philadelphia to pluck.
Noticing the lobby was deserted, he decided to do some snooping. Robert knew exactly where he needed to go. One of the most important spots to investigate in any hotel was the kitchen. He’d seen dozens of seemingly elegant establishments with ovens dirtier than any 24-hour roadside diner.
Since his reason for visiting the Kerrigan was hush-hush, at least until tomorrow’s board meeting, he certainly couldn’t ask for a tour. Now, just after midnight, seemed a good time to investigate. No one would be around, no one would be the wiser.
Robert slipped stealthily into the closed restaurant. Dodging between the backs of cushioned chairs, he took note of his surroundings. So far so good. The floor looked pristine. The air smelled sweet of fresh-cut flowers and well-prepared food. A hint of pine cleanser also indicated cleanliness, without being cloying or antiseptic.
Pushing quietly through the swinging doors, he looked around, assessing how well he could see in the darkened kitchen. But the room wasn’t completely dark. In the far corner, he saw a single light burning, and wondered if it was left on as a security measure. Walking gingerly on the tile floor to avoid making any noise, he made his way toward the light.
A hiccuping sob told him he was not alone.
“Please let me forget what an absolute fool I made of myself tonight!”
He froze.
“Please let me close my eyes and pretend I’m not a whiny, pathetic woman in an ugly green dress.”
Hidden in the shadows of a huge wall oven, Robert studied the woman sitting at a worktable beneath the single light.
Her dress really was damn ugly.
She, however, was quite lovely. She sat on a stool in front of a large, butcher-block table, where the chef probably worked when the restaurant was open. Her bare feet rested on the top rung of the stool, and her dress was haphazardly gathered in a mound of green fluff on her lap. Her legs were enough to stop his breath. Sweet, so sweet, encased in what appeared to be white thigh-high stockings that ended with a flirtatious bit of lace just below the edge of her hefted-up gown.
“Maybe one more bite,” the woman muttered. Robert bit the inside of his cheek to stop a laugh as he saw her plunge a fork into about half of what had once been a very large chocolate cake. She brought a portion to her mouth, letting out a pleased sigh as she bit off little pieces of it. Her tongue flicked out to lick the icing from the metal tines of the fork, and Robert had to swallow hard to contain the moan of appreciation he felt sure was going to spill across his lips.
She closed her eyes, dropping her head back, and he continued studying her, noting the long, smooth line of her throat, the generous curve of her hip, and the indentation of her waist in the tight dress. Not to mention the gorgeous, full breasts so magnificently displayed in the low-cut gown.
The overhead bulb caught the highlights in the mass of red curls surrounding her face. Judging by the beaded headpiece lying on the table, and the scattering of bobby pins beside it, she’d just taken her hair down and allowed most of it to fall freely in a soft curtain about her shoulders.
Lovely shoulders. She was soft-looking, with the pale skin of a redhead and the curves of a real man’s fantasy. Not thin and angular, no, she was rounded and curvaceous like an old-time movie starlet. Maybe not the fashion today, but so physically appealing to Robert he suddenly found it difficult to draw breath.
He heard her grunt, and watched as she opened her eyes and began struggling with her dress. As she pushed down on the mound of fabric on her lap, the sides poufed out, nearly forming an O-shape. Robert stifled a chuckle as he realized what she was wearing. It appeared, from where he stood, to be one of those god-awful southern belle style bridesmaid gowns.
“I swear as soon as I get home you’re going to get a taste of my shears. Though I don’t dislike my neighbors enough to make curtains out of you,” the woman said as she finally subdued the dress hoop. “No wonder the south lost—there wasn’t any room for men with every woman taking up ten feet of floor space!”
This time, Robert wasn’t able to contain the chuckle.
RUTHIE HELD the crushed dress tightly against her thighs and was reaching for the long neck of an expensive bottle of champagne when she heard a very masculine laugh. “Who’s there?” she asked, immediately hopping up from the stool and bumping her hip into the edge of her worktable. “Ouch.”
“Are you all right?”
She peered into the dark recesses of the kitchen, finally seeing one shadow separate itself from beyond the huge, stainless steel refrigerator. A figure approached her in the darkness. It had to be a man, she assumed, because of the height. He moved slowly, silently, almost gliding across the floor like something supernatural. She’d never met such a tall man who moved with such grace. Ruthie tensed as visions of a vampire movie she’d recently watched on cable flooded her muddled brain.
“Who are you?” she asked sharply as her fingers skittered across the table toward the knife block. She’d just about decided on the meat cleaver when she heard his warm laugh again.
“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to intrude.” The man stepped closer until he walked into the small pool of light cast by the overhead fixture. Then, when he was fully illuminated, Ruthie could only manage a sigh.
He was like something out of a GQ-inspired fantasy. Tall. So tall she’d have to tilt her head all the way back to look up at him. His hair was thick, wavy, the rich brown of her very best au jus. The face was classically handsome, smooth-shaven, cleanly shaped with high, strong cheekbones that drew attention to the heavily lashed, dark brown eyes. His face was creased by a broad smile outlined by a pair of lips so sensual they were made to be kissed. Her own lips parted, puckered slightly, of their own free will, as she continued to examine him.
He wore a navy sports coat, tailored to highlight the shoulders that seemed too wide to fit through any standard doorway. His white dress shirt, open at the throat, revealed tanned skin and a hint of chest hair. Ruthie had always found that particular spot fascinating on a man, particularly one as well built as this one. Not that she had inspected any up close anytime recently. Like within the past three years.
Light gray slacks, tailored to fit him perfectly, skimmed his lean hips. They were expensive, obviously, but also tight enough to leave her speculating that he wore boxers, not briefs.
“I’m dreaming,” she finally managed to say, shaking her head mournfully. “I’ve fallen asleep, my face is right now resting cheekbone high in a six-inch tall cake, and in the morning someone’s going to come in and find I’ve asphyxiated myself on Ghirardelli.”
He grinned. “I’m very real, I’m afraid. We seem to have had the same idea. Sneaking into the kitchen for a late-night snack?”
Ruthie shook her head, trying to sort through the champagne-inspired cobwebs clouding her thoughts. “I needed some serious chocolate,” she finally said.
He held her eye and slowly nodded. “I think I do, too.”
Ruthie grabbed a fork from a stack of washed dishes on a nearby counter and tossed it to him. “Help yourself.”
He caught it easily, sat on another stool next to the one she’d vacated, and dug right in.
Ruthie watched a smile of satisfaction cross his face as he tasted. Okay, he was real. He wasn’t a vampire. Vampires didn’t eat food, except, maybe, raw steak. Certainly not sweets. And this guy obviously appreciated the cake. Another