Lynsay Sands - One Lucky Vampire

A deep chuckle made her frown over her shoulder. Surely he hadn’t heard her from there, had he? She would have thought not, but the amusement on his face made her think he could. Turning back to the phone, Nicole muttered, “I’ll call you back later.”

“No, wait—” Pierina protested, but Nicole just hit the off button to end the call, took a deep breath to try to regain at least a little composure, and turned to offer a polite smile to the man. She started back to him then, her hand out, ready to shake his as she said, “Hi, I’m Nicole Phillips. You must be the cook/housekeeper Marguerite was—Ouch, ouch, ouch!”

Nicole recalled the glass on the floor just as his hand closed around hers. It was the pain radiating up from her foot that reminded her. She’d stepped in the damned glass and was now hopping around on her uninjured foot, the injured foot pulled up like a stork. His hold on her hand was the only thing keeping her from toppling over. At least it was until he suddenly scooped her up in his arms.

“Oh,” Nicole breathed, feeling her face pinken. The phone began to ring again, and she was surprised to spot it on the floor.

“You dropped it when you stepped on the glass,” the man holding her said, and then suddenly bent over with her in his arms so that she could grab it up off the floor.

“Oh my, you’re strong,” Nicole said faintly as she snatched up the phone. Glancing at the display screen as he straightened again, she murmured, “It’s Pierina. Again.”

Even as she pushed the button to answer the call, someone gasped, “What on earth!” behind them.

The man holding her swung to face Marguerite at once and Nicole wasn’t surprised to see that the woman stood in the doorway to the walk-in closet, gaping at Nicole in the cook/housekeeper’s arms. At least Nicole thought he was the cook/housekeeper. He hadn’t really verified that yet, but that was who Marguerite had claimed she was bringing back.

“What’s happened?” Pierina squawked from the phone, reminding Nicole that she’d answered it. “Is that Marguerite? Why does she sound so shocked? What’s going on?”

“Put the phone to my face,” the man holding her said.

Nicole hesitated, but then did as he requested and placed the receiver so he could take the call.

“Pierina, this is Jake Colson,” he announced in his deep sexy voice. “Marguerite has asked me to take on the job of Nicole’s cook/housekeeper and snow-shovel guy on a two-week trial basis. Marguerite and I are both here. Nicole is fine, but she stepped on some glass and I have to get it out for her now, so she’ll call you back later with all the juicy details. But I’m handing you over to Marguerite so she can add her reassurance since you don’t know me. Nice talking to you,” he added, and then pulled his head away from the phone and nodded toward Marguerite.

Nicole shifted the phone in that direction and Marguerite took it with a smile and headed out of the room, saying, “Pierina darling, how are you? I never thought of it at the time, but you should have come with me to Ottawa. I know Nicole would have loved that and the company on the flight here and back would have been nice.”

Marguerite continued talking, but that was all Nicole caught. Alone again with the man she now knew was Jake, she lifted her eyes self-consciously to his. “You can set me down now.”

“So you can hop around on one foot?” he asked with amusement and turned to carry her out of the room as if she weighed nothing, which she knew from her bathroom scales, and her soon to be ex-husband’s criticisms, wasn’t true. If she wasn’t so uncomfortable at being in a stranger’s arms, Nicole would have enjoyed the experience.

Jake didn’t pause in the bathroom that connected the walk-in closet to the bedroom as she expected, but continued out through the dining/living room and then into the kitchen. He set her on the island there, said a firm “Stay,” and walked out of the room.

Nicole stared after him wide-eyed. He was very commanding for a cook. He also smelled really good, and he was superstrong. She was not some skinny, model type chick. Nicole was full figured and always had been. Actually, she was more full figured now than she’d ever been. Apparently she didn’t take constant criticism well. She’d gained weight during her marriage, which had just led to more criticism. Nicole hadn’t yet taken the trouble to lose that weight. She had too many other things to worry about first, or so she’d been thinking. Now she was thinking she really should start a diet . . . and the gorgeous, yummy-smelling man who had just left her kitchen had nothing to do with that decision, Nicole assured herself firmly.

She almost believed that . . . right up until Gorgeous Jake walked back into the kitchen and she found herself sitting up straight and sucking in her stomach.

“Alcohol, tweezers, a needle, antiseptic, and a bandage,” Jake rattled off as he set down the items he’d collected, obviously from her bathroom. “I think that’s everything we’ll need.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Nicole’s words ended on a gasp as he suddenly squatted in front of her and grabbed her foot to take a look. Any further protest was prevented by her need to bite her lip to keep from squawking as he began to poke at her foot.

“Does this hurt?” he asked, pressing gently.

“No,” Nicole said, but even she didn’t think it sounded believable. Her voice was about three octaves higher than normal.

Jake gave her a reproving look. “You have to tell me if it hurts, it’s how I’ll know where the glass is. You have several pieces in your foot that I can see, and a couple I don’t think I’m seeing. So, stoic, no, and honesty, yes, okay?”

Nicole nodded silently, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

He went back to work then, starting with the glass he could see, she supposed, since he didn’t ask her if it hurt anymore. However, it did hurt when he dug out the bits of glass and Nicole was clenching her hands and trying not to cry out when he began to ask questions, distracting her.

“Marguerite says you’re an artist?”

“Yes. I paint portraits,” she answered, looking away in the hopes that not watching would make it less painful.

“You’re good,” he complimented, and the words made her smile crookedly.

“How would you know? You haven’t seen my work,” she said with amusement.

“I did,” he countered. “When we found the front door unlocked and got no answer when we called out, Marguerite and I searched the house starting on the ground floor . . . including your studio.”

“Oh,” Nicole murmured, but she was frowning. “The front door was locked. I locked it myself behind Marguerite when she left.”

Jake raised his head and peered at her, then glanced to the door. Nicole followed his gaze to see Marguerite in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, the phone in her hand at her side. Apparently she’d finished talking to Pierina. Now she was exchanging a solemn look with Jake.

“It was unlocked when we got here,” Marguerite said quietly, as if verifying that he hadn’t remembered wrong.

“Well, that’s just—” Nicole shook her head. “I know I locked it.”

“Marguerite, if you’ll finish here, I’ll check the house again,” Jake said quietly, straightening.

Nicole frowned. “I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

“You locked it, and it was unlocked when we got here,” he pointed out simply. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

“Yes, but no one has keys but me. Well, and Marguerite,” she said, and then frowned and added reluctantly, “Maybe I just thought I locked it. Or maybe I accidentally unlocked it when I went to take the key out.”