Getting Lucky

Chapter 2

LILY STOOD IN FRONT OF THE MIRRORED CLOSET door the next morning and studied her naked body. The longer she looked, the closer together her eyebrows inched. Who invented the full-length mirror, anyway? She'd lay odds on a man with a sadistic streak.

Okay, maybe that wasn't fair. Perhaps he was a perfectly nice fellow—one so moon-faced in love with his sylphlike wife that he'd invented the thing so she could admire her svelte and no doubt hipless body from head to toe whenever her little heart desired. Besides, it wasn't as if the reflection looking back at her was that bad. If she were seeing it strictly through her own eyes, in fact, she'd probably think, Not fabulous. Could definitely stand improvement. But, all in all, not bad for a thirty-five-year-old who's fond of food .

Unfortunately, her observation was tainted by the remembrance of Zach Taylor's cool gray eyes tracking over her, as well as the knowledge that he had clearly never had to sweat cellulite. Sucking in her stomach, standing as tall as she possibly could, she turned side to side, scowling at the not-much-improved-upon reflection. She was simply so darn… round .

Blowing out a breath, she studied the various components that comprised the whole. It wasn't all bad news. She liked her shoulders, and her arms had nice definition. She had good skin, and her breasts were fairly decent. They were a bit larger than she would've chosen had it been left up to her, but they weren't show-stopper huge, thank goodness. And they were still right up where they were supposed to be—there was something to be said for that.

That was the plus side of the ledger; then things got a little dicey. She was short-waisted and her hips and bottom were the bane of her existence, both being several inches fuller than she cared to contemplate, never mind acknowledge. And being only five feet, three inches tall (well, darn near—five-two and three-quarters, anyhow) her legs obviously weren't the kind that reached to heaven. Thank God for nicely squared shoulders or she'd look like one of those roly-poly punching-bag dolls that always popped right back up no matter how often one pushed the thing down.

And God bless, too, the benefit of cosmetics and all the other accoutrements of being a woman. Heck , she thought, as she reached for one of her favorite lingerie sets, everyone looks better in clothing, anyway . She stepped into the tiny electric-blue panties and pulled them into place, then shimmied her breasts into the lace demi-cups of its matching bra. She adjusted the straps and swept up a pair of freshly ironed designer jeans. Donning them, she then stepped into a pair of strappy, red spiked heels that added three and a half inches to her stature, and pulled a color-coordinated sleeveless V-necked tunic on over her head. She added a narrow gold chain belt over the slinky jersey material, made a few adjustments until she was satisfied with its loose drape between hip and waist, then stood back and nodded. The glitter of gold was always a welcome addition to any outfit, and the belt helped hint at her contours while maintaining the always stylish, straighter silhouette.

She sashayed into the bathroom and plugged in her hot rollers. While waiting for them to heat, she applied liquid foundation with a light hand, powdered her T zone, added a hint of blush to the apples of her cheeks, then carefully made up her eyes with neutral colors, all to achieve a luminous no-makeup look.

The light that indicated the rollers were ready blinked off a few minutes later, just as she was tossing her eyelash curler and mascara back into the vanity drawer. She threw a few rollers into her hair, brushed her teeth, applied a nice cheery, rosy lipstick, and took the rollers out. After waiting a sec to let her hair cool, she pulled a brush through it, then tossed the brush in the drawer, bent from the waist, and mussed her hair vigorously with both hands. Straightening, she tweaked the 'do here and there, then walked back into the bedroom. She stopped in front of the minor once again to give herself another appraisal.

"Much better," she murmured. "I swear, only the air-brushed look truly good stark naked."

Still, she mused as she made her way to the kitchen, it certainly wouldn't hurt to get back on the diet wagon. Perhaps she'd cut up a little fruit and limit herself to that for breakfast.

It was a worthy goal—and one that lasted until she opened the refrigerator a moment later and spied the full carton of eggs. She did get out an orange, but along with it retrieved two eggs, a large crimini mushroom, a green onion, and half a small tomato. She set them all on the counter next to the stove. Remembering there was a nice smokedGoudain the dairy drawer, she grabbed that, too, and cut off a small hunk. She drizzled olive oil into a frying pan, set the pan on the burner, and turned the gas on beneath it. As blue flames licked the rim of the pan's bottom, she broke the eggs into a bowl she'd grabbed out of the cupboard. Adding a splash of half-and-half and a dash of salt and pepper, she whipped them to a froth with a wire whisk, then set them aside to quickly chop the rest of the ingredients.

She adored good food. She loved everything about it: its scents, its tastes, its textures. Reverence for the world of edibles and everything that could be done with them had sent her first to a culinary academy straight out of high school, then through advanced training and a series of apprenticeships with some ofCalifornia's most prestigious chefs.

She hummed as she poured the egg mixture into the hot pan and evenly distributed the vegetables, tomato, and finely cubed cheese on top of it. While waiting for it to set up enough to fold, she set the table with a pretty plate, a linen napkin, and silverware. Then she made herself a cup of tea, cut two thin slices from the middle of the orange, and arranged them in decorative twists on either side of her plate. She ate the remainder leaning over the sink.

A few minutes later she slid the omelet onto her plate and sat down to her meal. For a moment she simply breathed in the aroma and appreciated the omelet's aesthetic appeal against the blue plate and orange garnish. Then she picked up her fork, sliced off a bite, and slipped it into her mouth. Her eyes slid closed. Oh, my. She did so love good food. There was never a time she didn't enjoy eating. Well, her appetite did disappear on those rare occasions when she was upset, but fortunately for her—or perhaps unfortunately, given the way everything that passed her lips seemed to settle directly on her hips—she was a natural-born optimist.

A condition that threatened to die a natural death when halfway through her omelet her neck began to tingle, and she looked up to see Zach lounging in the archway.

He stood with one big shoulder propped negligently against the stucco jamb, watching her with the oddest look on his face. Then in the blink of an eye, the indecipherable look disappeared, and he pushed away from the arch and sauntered into the kitchen. Stopping next to the table, he regarded her without favor. "You still here?"

Lily set down her fork. "Yes," she said. "And just so we don't have to keep having this conversation over and over again, let me see if I can put this in words simple enough for you to understand. I. Am not. Leaving. Certainly not because you have some ridiculous notion that I'm out to cheat Glynnis of her inheritance. Your sister was kind enough to offer me a place to stay when my apartment went condo, and unless she asks me to leave, this is exactly where I plan to remain." At least until the last week in May, when her next stint as chef for a corporate yacht was scheduled to begin—but Lily didn't feel any burning need to share that information with Glynnis's brother.

She looked him over. Why did the guy have to be such eye candy? He had that flushed, moist glow of the freshly showered, and his hair was still damp, his cheeks smooth and shiny from a recent shave. He was just plain fan-yourself attractive, and lordy, didn't it just figure that the first man to rev her engine in way too long would turn out to be a judgmental oaf? Life was so unfair.

Never did it seem more so than when he asked in a silky baritone, "Did my sister happen to mention that the house is in my name, not hers?"

Zach watched as Lily absorbed the news. She looked stunned for a moment, but he had to hand it to her, she recovered quickly. Her fine-boned little chin lifted, and her eyes were cool as they met his head-on.

"And I assume you mean to challenge the legality of my contract with her?"

"Maybe." He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed down at her. But she looked way too good, so he transferred his attention to the plate in front of her, which held the most delicious-looking omelet he'd ever seen. Its tantalizing scent had been responsible for pulling him to the kitchen in the first place, and actually seeing its golden-brown perfection made saliva pool in his mouth. His stomach growled.

"Then I guess we'll see each other in court," Lily said, snapping his attention back to her. Cheeks flushed and eyes so bright a blue he suspected colored contact lenses, she pushed back from the table and rose to her feet. She carried her plate over to the sink where she scraped its contents, giving him a long, level look over her shoulder. "Because I'm still not leaving."

For one brief moment Zach didn't care. He watched the perfect omelet disappear down the garbage disposal and wanted to howl. Just because she couldn't finish it didn't mean it had to go to waste. He would have taken care of it for her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a proper meal, but it sure as hell hadn't been during the past twenty-four hours. Hunger, lack of sufficient sleep, and worry over his sister sent him across the space separating them. "Where's Glynnis?" he snarled, even though he knew damn well that hotheaded demands were destined to fail.

Lily didn't reply, but something in her eyes confirmed Zach's suspicion that she knew the answer, and with a lack of control that wasn't at all like him he wrapped his hands around her upper arms and pulled her up onto her toes. Bending his head, he got right in her face. "Where the hell is she?"

The warmth and the softness of her skin registered first. Then he saw her crystalline blue eyes go wide, and the genuine fear that flashed through them struck him like a punch to the gut. With an oath, he set her free. He stepped back and plowed a hand through his hair. "I just want to know where my sister is." Hearing the apologetic tone in his voice, he snarled, "For all I know, finagling yourself a cushy berth here wasn't enough to keep you satisfied."

"Meaning what—that now you think I've harmed her? For heaven's sake! She's gone on a trip!" Crossing her arms over her breasts, she rubbed her arms. "You might want to consult a professional about that paranoia."

Shoving down the flash of guilt he felt seeing her hands pat the flesh he'd just manhandled as if searching for bruises, he honed in on the pertinent information. "A trip where? With who?"

"North," she replied coolly. "With a friend." Eyes narrowed, she thrust her jaw up at him. But she couldn't quite hold his gaze.

It told him louder than words could have that the "friend" was someone he wouldn't approve of. "Aw, crap. She's off with another fortune hunter, isn't she?"

"Insinuating that I'm one too, I take it?"

"If the high heel fits, honey chile." Although, taking in that tousled blonde hair and those kiss-me-daddy lips, he'd grant that gulling a naive young woman might be a departure for her. Little Miss Lily's wiles were probably more often practiced on the dick-bearing segment of the moneyed set.

"My gawd." She blew out a disgusted breath and shot him a look that should have dropped him in his tracks. "You are some piece of work."

"And don't you forget it. Now let's you and I sit down and get nice and comfy. Then you can tell me exactly where up north Glynnis has gone—and just who the hell her travel buddy is."

"Can I now," she said flatly. "And is there anything else I can do for you while I'm at it?"

"I wouldn't say no to one of those omelets."

"Oh, you bet—I'll get right on that. Meanwhile, I tell you what." She cocked a hip at him, gave one pretty, rounded cheek a resounding smack, and tendered him a sweet smile. "Kiss this."

He gave the anatomy in question a comprehensive perusal, then slowly raised his gaze. "Wouldn't say no to that, either."

A soft shriek of frustration escaped her, and pivoting on her toe, she stalked from the room—or at least that was the impression conveyed by the unyielding set of her golden-skinned shoulders as she left the kitchen. Genuine stalking had to be a tough act to pull off in heels that tall.

He watched the rhythmic twitch of her hips as she walked away. How can someone as sweet as Glynn is have such a pig of a brother ? Her words from last night whispered in his mind, and he scowled. What was it about her, anyway, that loosened every restriction that ordinarily guarded his tongue? Two lousy minutes in her company seemed to be all it took to destroy years of having manners drummed into his head.

This wasn't how he'd been raised to talk to women. Grandmother must be spinning in her grave—she'd had very concrete ideas of how gentlemen dealt with ladies, and she would've skinned him alive to hear the disrespect he'd tendered Lily.

But, damn , the woman had annoying ways of getting to him! Like dabbing on just enough of that scent she wore to make him want to get closer to sniff out more. Or doing whatever it was she did to make herself look as if she'd just tumbled out of bed after a bout of really hot sex. Not to mention the way she walked, with those hip swinging, tippy-toed little steps.Hell, she even ate seductively. The look on her face when she'd been forking that omelet into her mouth had practically knocked him on his butt. He'd seen women in the midst of an orgasm who hadn't looked half as ecstatic.

He shook his head, trying to get the image out of his mind. He didn't get it. What the hell was it about her that drew him so? It wasn't as if Lily were the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. Or even the sexiest, when it came right down to it. But just let her be in the same room and, without any effort on her part it seemed, she kept his attention trained squarely on her.

And you think that's by accident, genius?

Zach swore. Well, duh. Keep a guy's attention focused on disheveled blonde hair and a well-rounded little fuck-me body, and it sure as hell won't be his mind doing the thinking. Lily Morrisette might be about the girliest female he'd ever clapped eyes on, but she had a habit of meeting both gazes and situations head-on, a way of refusing to ever back down, that was almost masculine in its determination. She knew precisely what she was doing.

He didn't think he was jumping to any hasty conclusions by questioning her motives. Glynnis certainly had a record of trusting the wrong people. She'd run afoul of some real losers in her life, and more than one young buck had thought to score himself a free ride by attaching himself to her. But they hadn't all been out to take her, so it wasn't as if he automatically suspected every person she came into contact with. She'd managed to make some regular friends; he'd give her that. Every one of his sister's girlfriends he'd met up until now, though, had been her own age—young women in their early twenties who'd tended either to start giggling or to flirt blatantly whenever he tried to have anything resembling an intelligent conversation with them.

They were nothing like Lily. They lacked that aura she had of knowing the score, for one thing. It took years and experience to gain that kind of worldliness. He might not be the greatest judge of age, but he'd put money on Lily being quite a bit older than his sister— somewhere closer to his own thirty-six than to Glynnis's not-quite twenty-five.

And all things considered, he had to wonder: What would someone as self-assured as Lily want with an ingenuous girl who was nine or ten years younger if it wasn't her money?

The origins of their association definitely bore closer examination.

Lily paced her room, seriously irritated. And to think she used to dream of having a big brother! If Mr. I-Am-the-Commandant-of-All-I-Survey was any example, she could count herself fortunate she'd been an only child.

She made a conscious effort to unclench her teeth. But, really! She'd excused his rudeness last night because he'd obviously been tired and not thinking clearly, but how dare he continue to heedlessly assume she had no integrity? Yes, she was a busty, blue-eyed blonde who loved makeup and jewelry; so rarely in her life had any man bothered to look deeper than that. But there was a big difference between being considered a dumb blonde and Zach's careless assassination of her character.

She plopped down on the edge of the bed and concentrated on regaining her equilibrium, trying to look at the situation without all the emotion that had her blood churning. It took her a while, but her pulse finally began to settle down.

Then the pounding on her door commenced. Lily jerked and to her disgust made a sound like a startled screech owl. Popping off the bed, she faced the closed door with her hands fisted on her hips, all her high-minded promises forgotten as her heart once again pounded double time. "Go away!"

"Open up, Lily. I want to talk to you."

"Oh, well, then," she muttered. "Let me just trot right over and let you in. Your wishes make all the difference in the world."

"I heard that." He had the effrontery to sound amused. But his good humor apparently didn't last. He thumped the portal. "Open the damn door."

She crossed the room in several angry strides, ripped the door open, and stared up in annoyance at his tanned face. "Are you incapable of completing one lousy sentence without cursing?"

He blinked, then to her surprise gave her a sheepish look. "Sorry," he rumbled in that deep voice. "I've been a soldier so long I sometimes forget that conversations are more refined in the civilian world. I'll try to do better." Then he seemed to recall he was conversing with the enemy. He stepped into the room, forcing her to take a step back before she caught herself and stood her ground. "But that's not why I'm here," he said. "Tell me how you met my sister."

He was back to being his imperious, give-me-the-facts-and-give-'em-to-me-now self, and Lily's knee-jerk reaction was to invite him to kiss her rosy red cheeks. Recalling she'd already done that, however, sent blood hot enough to blister rushing through her veins—particularly when she thought of his response. A better idea would be to get a handle on this anger once and for all. So she took a deep breath, eased it out, and told him the truth. "We met at a yoga class."

"Where?"

"At Headlands, over on Harbor Drive inDanaPoint."

"And who joined the class first?" He snapped out his questions for all the world as if he were a drill instructor and she his raw recruit. "You, or Glynnis?"

"Glynnis," she said through her teeth.

He looked down at her as if she'd just confirmed his lowest suspicion. " Uh-huh ."

"What do you mean, uh-huh ?" As if it took a wizard to see where this was going. Her back went ramrod straight. "I lived about a mile away at the time, betweenSan Juan CapistranoandDanaPoint. Glynnis is the one who travelled out of her way to attend that particular class. Does your paranoia know no bounds ?"

"Well, let me see," he said, looking down at her. "A thirty something woman with no visible means of support just happens to join the same yoga class as my very wealthy twenty-four-year-old sister—and the next thing we know, she's moved right in with her." He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah, sounds paranoid to me, all right. The two of you having so much in common, and all."

"I've told you I'm paying rent! Your 'very wealthy sister' is flat broke half the time, and this has been a way for both of us to benefit until I find a new place! Be-sides, you've known me one day! What makes you just assume I don't support myself?"

"You're right, that remains to be seen. But today's a workday, lollipop, and as far as I can see, you've gotten yourself all dolled up to lounge around the house." His cool, gray gaze did a fast slide over her before coming back to meet her own. "But, hey, if you're subsidizing Glynnis's trust fund, there's an easy enough way to prove it, isn't there? Show me a canceled check."

Oh, swell. Lily's heart sank. "The bank doesn't return my canceled checks. I can request photocopies, but it might take a day or two."

"I just bet it will."

Itching for the first time in her life to strike a person, she closed the distance separating them. "I've had enough of your attitude. I want you to leave my room."

He looked down at her and didn't move until she poked him in the chest. Then he took a slow, indolent step backward and didn't take another until she poked him again. He stepped over the threshold out into the hall.

Lily stared up at him. "You want to know what Glynnis and I have in common, soldier boy?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"We both marvel at what absolute cretins some men can be," she said and recited the complaints of every woman she'd ever known who'd been on the dating circuit for a while. "It seems they either want to change you, take you for a ride, or run your life. You oughtta be able to identify with that." With a sharp little click, she closed the door in his face.

There was silence from the other side for a moment. Then Zach said, "I want to know where my sister is."

"AndI want an end to world hunger. Looks like we're both going to be disappointed."

"No, ma'am. Maybe you've got your work cut out to meet your goal, but I don't intend to fail in mine. You will tell me. Count on it."

Not blooming likely, she thought, staring at the closed portal. There was no way on earth she intended to be the one to break the news to Control Freak Taylor that the sister he apparently thought was too clueless to be left to her own devices was on her way to Washington state to meet her new fiance's family.