The Cliff House. RaeAnne Thayne

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 4

      DAISY

      She was late, and if there is one thing she hated more than last-minute tax filers, it was being late.

      Daisy pressed the buzzer at the wrought iron gates leading into her ex-brother-in-law’s estate along the cliffs overlooking the Pacific. Casa Del Mar was beautiful. It was by far the most luxurious and expensive house along this area of coastline. Built in the Spanish Colonial style, it was massive, around seven thousand square feet, with a recording studio, huge swimming pool, tennis courts and even a two-lane bowling alley. Its biggest draw was the view, though, spectacular from just about every window.

      She lived in a house on the cliffs above the ocean, as well, just a half mile down the road, and had a stellar view herself, but the entirety of Pear Tree Cottage would probably fit inside Cruz’s master suite.

      He could afford it. As one of his team of financial advisers, she had a full picture of just how successful Cape Sanctuary’s hometown boy had become. The commission she earned handling his interests went a long way to helping her afford the property taxes for that house on the cliffs she loved.

      “Yes?” A disembodied voice spoke out of the tastefully hidden speaker. She didn’t recognize the greeter, which wasn’t a big surprise. Cruz’s staff rotated with dizzying frequency.

      “Daisy McClure. I have an appointment with Cruz.”

      The voice went silent for a moment then returned to the intercom. “Mr. Romero is busy right now. He’s about to have a massage.”

      She glanced at the clock on the dashboard of her BMW and frowned. She was five minutes late, granted, but she had a feeling the massage wasn’t some not-so-subtle dig at her punctuality. She was fairly certain that Cruz had completely forgotten about their appointment. He had a bad habit of doing exactly that.

      “Tell Mr. Romero he’s the one who called me to meet him at this time. He said it was important. This is the only time I’m free in several days. I’m here now. He can have his massage when we’re done. If you’d like, I can tell him that myself.”

      She spoke firmly, not worried about offending Cruz. She had known him since he was a kid living with his grandmother. She used to help him with his math homework after his grandmother had to go into assisted living and he came to live with Stella. He knew she wouldn’t take his crap—which might be why he entrusted a substantial share of his wealth to her keeping.

      “One moment.”

      An instant later the door glided open silently and she drove up the long, winding driveway lined with cypress and pine. Here and there, she caught glimpses of blue as the ocean peeped through.

      When she pulled up to the house, she saw several luxury SUVs there, indicating he had guests. From here she saw two people playing tennis and was positive that if she walked around the house, she would find more in the pool.

      Where was Cruz, however? That was the question du jour.

      She rang the doorbell and waited three or four moments, then finally pushed her way inside.

      As she might have expected, no one was there to meet her in the huge entryway, with its soaring ceilings and the colorful tile-work staircase and wrought iron banister focal point.

      “Hello?” she called out.

      Silence echoed through the entryway in response. She frowned, annoyed all over again. Give a guy a few Rolling Stone covers and include him as one of People magazine’s sexiest men of the year, and he thought the world revolved around him.

      She had a couple of options. She could wander around the vast house playing Find the Pop Star. Or she could handle things a different way.

      She pulled out her phone and texted him.

      I’ll be in the sitting room off the great hall. I can wait for ten minutes, then I’ll go and we can reschedule. My time is valuable, too.

      He texted her back immediately.

      Sorry, babe. Forgot you were coming. Be there in a sec.

      She sighed. Cruz might be selfish and narcissistic, and her sister might have divorced him for completely understandable reasons, but he was still family and she loved him.

      She headed for her favorite spot in the house, a small, comfortable room near the sprawling kitchen, with a beautiful view of the Pacific. The windows opened here and she could usually find a lovely breeze, sweet with the sea and the scent of the climbing roses that grew outside.

      It also had three original Marguerites, an intricately painted table and two matching chairs.

      She knew to the penny how much Cruz had paid for them, a staggering amount that still made her blink.

      Cruz liked to think he had discovered the mysterious furniture artist. In a way, she supposed he had. It was a spread of this house in Architectural Digest where he gushed about her work that had put Marguerite on the wish list of every designer in California.

      If she had hoped she might have a few moments to herself to enjoy the functional art while she waited for Cruz, she was sadly disappointed.

      Someone was already there.

      A man who was asleep, his feet on the coffee table and a drink on the extremely expensive Marguerite side table—without a coaster.

      She knew this man, she suddenly realized. She had last seen him climbing into a luxury SUV outside the supermarket the night of Stella’s birthday party.

      He wasn’t staring at her now. He was out, probably sleeping off a night of partying with Cruz into the wee hours.

      She was aware of the sting of disappointment at discovering the man she had thought about several times since their brief encounter was only another one of her ex-brother-in-law’s sycophants and freeloaders.

      A gorgeous one, yes, but that didn’t make up for being a slob.

      She grabbed a walnut-and-leather coaster off the little tray—they were right there, for heaven’s sake—and bent over to slide it under his drink.

      “Well. That’s a lovely thing to wake up to.”

      She jerked her gaze down at the deep voice and that slight, hard-to-place accent and found his stunning green eyes open and fixed somewhere south of her neck. Only now did she realize the position she was in, bending almost over him so that her unfortunately abundant girls were just at his eye level.

      Making matters worse, the top button had come loose on her tidy dress shirt, she realized, revealing plenty of cleavage as well as a hint of the decadent lace from the minimizer bras she favored.

      “Oh.” She straightened quickly, blushing as she worked to button her shirt.

      He sat up, wincing a little. “Sorry. That was the drugs talking. I’m usually not such a pig, I promise.”

      She couldn’t help her inelegant snort of disbelief. A slob, a pig and a junkie. Typical of Cruz’s guests.

      It СКАЧАТЬ