Here Comes Trouble Read online

  Liza dropped into the chair on the other side of Sheila’s desk. “I’m thinking they had really hot sex back then, don’t you? They just couldn’t talk about it. Or have anything other than twin beds. Cramped, I bet.”

  “I’m not having this conversation.” Tempting as girl talk was, she still had Nemesis plans to finalize.

  “Can you have it with me?” Morgan strolled in looking more professional than Sheila had seen her appear in a long time. Having spent so much time on the construction site, Morgan had fallen into the jeans and T-shirt routine. The black pencil skirt and bright yellow blouse made her look like a professional bumblebee.

  “You’re more than familiar with hot sex,” Sheila drawled. Morgan grinned. “I got your message. The store signs are going up today, right?”

  “I’m heading over there in a few minutes to oversee the installation. Want to drive with me?”

  “Yeah. Gina’s printing out the final checklist for the gala. Liza, would you mind . . .” Morgan’s silent suggestion trailed off.

  “I’m never going to be old enough for this conversation, am I?” Liza flounced out of the office, her paisley maxi dress swirling about her legs.

  “All the more reason for you and Gina to get along,” Morgan called after her, then waited for the door to close before she swung on Sheila, eyes bright. “So. Dish. Now.”

  “In the car. Not that you’ll get much out of me.”

  “Oh, come on. You heard all about Gage.”

  “You told me, I didn’t ask.”

  “That’s not how I remember it.”

  It wasn’t how Sheila remembered it either. “What is this? An episode of Sex and the City?”

  “Depends.” Morgan bit her lip. “Last night were you Samantha or Charlotte?”

  Sheila felt her cheeks flame. “I’m betting Veronica would tell me to plead the fifth, right, Veronica?” Sheila called into the other woman’s office as they passed, only to receive a half-hearted wave as Malcolm’s lawyer was occupied scanning through computer screens. “You want coffee?” Sheila asked her sister.

  “Have you noticed anything odd going on with Dad?” Morgan asked once they had coffee and were loaded into Sheila’s car, headed to the center.

  “Odd?” So much for assuming Morgan had been too busy to notice. “Um, no. Why? Have you?”

  “He seems distracted. We were supposed to have lunch later this week and he cancelled. I mean, it’s no big deal. I know he’s busy at work and stuff, but you don’t think—” Morgan shook her head, sipped at her triple-shot latte. “Never mind.”

  “I think you’re overdosing on happiness right now and you want everyone to feel the same way. Including Dad.”

  “Are you overdosing on happiness?”‘

  “For now.” Later? At least she’d have Morgan and Gage’s wedding to focus on.

  “You do seem more, um, relaxed.”

  “Painting does that to me.”

  Morgan’s face scrunched. “Eesh. Is that your code word for sex?”

  “No,” Sheila laughed. “But the sex helped.” It had helped a lot.

  “What happens with Malcolm, um.” Morgan turned her head to look out the window, but not before Sheila caught her flinch. “When Malcolm leaves?”

  Her sister’s words hit like physical blows. “Way to kill the afterglow. How did you know he’s leaving? Wait, so that’s what you two were talking about last night.”

  Morgan shrugged. “That, and Nathan might have mentioned it.”

  “You know, if we interfered in our brother’s love life this way—” Sheila said.

  “I’m worried about you getting hurt.”

  “Boy, today must be worry-about-Sheila day. First Malcolm, then Chadwick, now you. What happened to your seize-the-moment lecture the other day?”

  Morgan’s face twisted. “Why would Chadwick Oliver be worried about you getting hurt?”

  “God only knows. Look, how about we focus our attention on Nathan and see what we can do about his lack of a social life. Veronica Harrison. What do you think?”

  “I like her,” Morgan admitted. “But I think there’s as much chemistry between her and Nathan as Bert and Ernie.”

  “Well, you know what they say about Ernie and—”

  “Lalalalala.” Morgan covered her ears with her hands. “You are not ruining Sesame Street for me.” She ducked her chin, bit her lip, something her sister always did when she needed to talk about something she didn’t want to talk about. “Just be careful with Malcolm, okay? I know you think you’re prepared for him leaving, but . . .”

  “It’s my problem, Morgan. I’ll deal with it when I have to.” If she had to. Dangerous thinking. She’d already caught herself thinking what it would be like to live in San Francisco, but the idea of leaving everyone and everything she knew behind . . . that caused an unfamiliar knot of unease that was almost painful.

  She parked and reached for her bag and pulled out the sketchbook she’d been working in this morning. “Tell me what you think?”

  “What is this?” Morgan pulled out the sketch, looking over the initial ideas Sheila had put together before she’d started painting in the midnight hours and beyond.

  “Just some basic ideas.” Sheila leaned on the center console and watched her sister trace her finger over the illustrated forest interspersed with waterfalls and lakes. “I know you asked for a painting, and I did one. Don’t get excited,” she said, holding up her hand. “Not yet, but I was thinking about other areas of the center. Maybe some murals? Like what I did for . . .” She swallowed before forcing out the words. “Like what I did for Brandon.”

  Morgan looked from the paper, back to Sheila, to the paper again, but not before Sheila caught the glimmer of tears in her sister’s eyes. “You can really do this?”

  “I couldn’t.” And to be honest, the idea of putting this much of herself onto the wall of any place, let alone such a public place, was down-to-her-toes terrifying. “But maybe now I can?”

  “Oh.” The file folder slipped off Morgan’s lap as she threw her arms around Sheila’s neck and squeezed. “It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to see it finished. When . . .”

  “There’s no way I can do this before the gala. Not with everything else I’ve got going on—”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” Morgan insisted as she grabbed up the papers.

  “How’s Christmas?” Sheila offered, praying, hoping that the creativity spark wouldn’t die when Malcolm left. Committing herself to something this massive, this personal, was taking a bigger chance than she ever had. But for once, she was banking on herself.

  ***

  “There’s something very sexy about a man who cooks.” Malcolm dropped a handful of chopped peanuts over the chicken stir-fry sizzling on Sheila’s stove while she munched on a stray carrot.

  “It’s sad you have this gourmet kitchen and you never use it.” He dodged the piece of celery as it flew at his head. “Admit it. This is just one big yogurt storage system.”

  “The microwave does great leftovers. I’ll get the bowls.” She hopped off the bar stool and came around the counter, looking to Malcolm as tasty and distracting as the triple-layer chocolate cake he’d bypassed at the market.

  “I ran into Theresa this afternoon at J & J.” He flipped the switch on the rice cooker he’d bought and opened the lid to breathe in the nutty aroma of perfect brown rice. “She helped me stock your pantry.”

  “Are you sure she didn’t sneak a wedding cake in your bag? I wouldn’t put it past her. Hey.” She looked down at the shiny white bowls in her hand. “I didn’t buy these. Or these.” She pulled open cabinet after cabinet. “Malcolm, what did you do?”

  “I told you. I went shopping.” Her kitchen was pathetic and lacked every possible convenience and practicality available. And he’d needed a break from obsessing ove
r stock buyouts, art heists, and pending test results.

  “Oh my God.” Sheila clutched the bowls to her chest. “You shop, too?”

  Malcolm let his gaze graze her from head to toe. “Do we need a replay of last night?”

  “Anytime.” She grinned. “But you know all this is wasted on me, right? I don’t cook.”

  “You can host. And I can teach you to cook. Come here.” He pulled her over and wedged her between him and the counter. He put the knife in her hand and covered it with his, slicing through the bunch of green onions with more deliberation than necessary. “Cooking with you is very . . .” he whispered in her ear before he nibbled on the curve of her neck. Another step forward and she gasped, parting her legs slightly as he moved against her. “Stimulating.”

  “Keep doing that and no one’s going to be eating any time soon.” She dropped the knife and turned in his arms, linking her hands behind his neck as she tangled her fingers in his hair. “And given Nathan and my Dad are due here any minute . . .” She kissed him and nearly set off the smoke detector. The front door buzzed just as his fingers skimmed under her shirt. “Behave yourself,” she murmured against his lips. “Or you won’t get any dessert.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  She ducked under his arms and hustled to the front door. He heard muffled greetings and an enthusiastic response to whatever wine she’d been presented with so he turned off the gas burner and pulled out four wine glasses and set them on the counter.

  “When Sheila said you were cooking dinner, I was horrifically reminded of mac and cheese and Slim Jims,” Nathan said as he rounded the corner. “You’ve progressed.”

  “How you two survived college I’ll never know.” Jackson joined Malcolm near the sink, where he washed up. “Put me to work.”

  “Spring rolls are in the oven,” Malcolm said. “Potholders are in the drawer next to the stove.”

  “I have pot holders?” Sheila asked as she withdrew one of the few items she’d possessed: a wine opener.

  “Takes after her mother,” Jackson said, rolling up the sleeves of his navy-blue shirt. “Has Sheila told you about the Thanksgiving of 2000?”

  “Hey. That was Mom, not me.” Sheila shoved Nathan when he elbowed her. “Well, okay, the pie was me, but the salt and sugar canisters were identical.”

  “To this day I can’t eat pumpkin pie.” Nathan made an inhuman gagging sound. “And don’t even ask about the turkey.”

  “Now that was Catherine.” Jackson chuckled and deposited the sheet tray on the counter. “She thought when the instructions said to wash the turkey, she should, well, wash the turkey.”

  “Oh, good Lord.” Malcolm nearly sliced through his finger as he laughed.

  “Nothing says a Tremayne Thanksgiving like soap suds billowing out of the oven. The kitchen was like a giant Slip’N Slide.” Nathan sipped at his white wine, but choked and covered his mouth. “What the hell?”

  “Sherlock.” Sheila dived behind her brother as the tiny black fur ball clawed up Nathan’s back and draped himself over his shoulder.

  “Mew.” He knocked his head hard into Nathan’s jaw.

  Sheila giggled, her eyes shining. “Nathan, Sherlock. I think I might have to get him one of those collars with a bell.”

  “That look right there,” Malcolm said, pointing at his friend with his knife. “Was worth every penny I spent.”

  “Little guy fits right in, doesn’t he?” Jackson placed spring rolls onto a platter. “Did you make all this from scratch?”

  “I needed a way to decompress and deal with stress instead of skydiving or racing, so I took cooking lessons.” He popped a water chestnut in his mouth and addressed the curious looks of the Tremayne clan. “Once you own a company as valuable as TIN, insurance companies frown on risky behaviors.” Maybe it was time to revisit those old habits.

  “I miss those weekend trips to Vegas. Remember that skydiving weekend we took with those twins from . . .” Nathan said as he scratched Sherlock on the top of the head.

  Jackson cleared his throat.

  “That I just realized I never told you and mom about.” He shot his father a guilty grin. “Landed safe and sound, though.”

  “Skydiving?” Sheila aimed a look at Malcolm.

  “Nothing makes you feel more alive than dropping out into an empty sky,” he said. “You should try it sometime.”

  “I wouldn’t mind, actually,” Jackson said as he toasted Malcolm. “Let me know if you want to go up.”

  “What is in this wine?” Sheila looked down at the almost empty bottle.

  “Hopefully something that will help us figure out what to do about these new developments you told us about,” Nathan said. “Why do you think I brought more than one bottle?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Leave it to Chadwick to prove me right. A second appraiser.” Nathan pushed his empty dinner plate aside, snagged one of the last spring rolls, and leaned back in his chair, wine in hand. “Nothing about this job is going to be easy. It would be helpful to know who those advance bidders are.”

  Too bad the “list” Chadwick had sent to the office had been initials with dollar amounts only. “Doesn’t matter who he’s selling to, we go with it.” The last thing Sheila thought she’d have to worry about was her father and Nathan pulling the plug. “We aren’t stopping now.”

  “No one said we were,” Nathan said.

  “Let’s back up a minute.” Jackson tapped his hand on the table. “Criminal guests aside, first thing first is Malcolm confirming Chadwick’s got the painting we want for the auction. We’re good on that, right?”

  “I’m going to Malibu in the morning,” Malcolm said. “With Nathan’s guidance, I’ll make it look as if Nemesis paid Dad’s private office a visit. He’ll be checking on those paintings faster than he could place a two-dollar bet at the track.”

  “The good news is we know about this second appraiser,” Jackson said. “You said Chadwick hasn’t met this man, right?”

  “He said he came recommended, so I’m guessing no.”

  “Then we’ll just add another fake to the auction. And before you ask”—Jackson pointed at Nathan—“I have someone in mind for the job.”

  “We need to figure out how to get the forgeries into place in the first place,” Sheila said. “We can’t sneak them in, the air ducts are too narrow. And there aren’t any skylights to access. The loading dock’s blind spot has been addressed. Thanks so much for that recommendation, Nathan.”

  “How was I supposed to know we’d be targeting the gallery last year when they asked me to consult on a system upgrade?” Her brother defended himself.

  “Why don’t you bring them in the front door?” Malcolm tossed his napkin onto his plate, then looked startled when all three looked at him. “What? I say something wrong?”

  “No, no. That’s good.” Jackson leaned forward. “In through the front door in plain sight. Can you think of two of your mother’s paintings you’d be willing to part with, Sheila? Or at least pretend to part with if we were to auction them off for the foundation?”

  Sheila mentally worked her way through the family art collection. “If all the paintings are still at the house, yeah. I can stop by in the morning and pick out two.”

  “Do you think Chadwick will agree?” Nathan asked Malcolm, who chuffed.

  “One way to find out.” Jackson pulled out his phone and excused himself from the table. “Oh, and that insurance investigator, Sheila? You have his card? I want to do a little background check on him. Nathan’s not the only techie in the family,” he said to Malcolm.

  Sheila retrieved her purse and dug out the card. “Dad, are you sure—”

  “Stop worrying.” He patted her arm as he pocketed the card. “We’ve got this. And in a second I’ll have— Chadwick, good evening. Jackson Tremayne.” He winke
d at Sheila, who felt a new knot form in her chest. “I wonder if you might be open to granting me a favor.”

  ***

  “Are you out of your mind?” Sheila asked him a few hours later after her family had left, the dishes were done, and she and Malcolm were focused on popping buttons and tugging zippers. “Skydiving?” She divested herself of her bra and panties with a twist and a wiggle and stood naked in front of him, blonde hair spilling about her shoulders and over her perfectly formed breasts. She waved one of their favorite foil favors in front of his face before her hands disappeared.

  “Don’t really have to now.” He sucked in a breath that chilled his teeth as her hands sought and found her target. “Apparently just the mention of it works as an aphrodisiac. Holy Mother of God, don’t stop.” He grabbed her wrist to slow her movements, the feeling of her palm stroking him to steel and forcing the air from his lungs. “Nothing like diving out of a plane to make you feel powerful.” And alive. Unless it was being under Sheila Tremayne.

  “I think we can both agree.” She rose up and sank her front teeth into his ear lobe, the throaty chuckle that vibrated through her all but made him whimper. “Who has the power right now?” She maneuvered him to the bed and shoved him back. He pulled himself onto the mattress as she crawled over him, planting her knees on either side of his thighs and in one smooth movement, sheathed him. “Now that’s dessert,” she purred, dragging him up and covering his mouth with hers.

  She rocked against him and he held on, letting her set the pace, flattening his palms against the small of her back as she raised and lowered herself in time to his pounding pulse. There was something different tonight, a tension or a determination in her that he could feel in every inch of her body. Her mouth commanded his, her arms and hands roamed and scraped and kneaded as she took, drawing him deeper into her until he couldn’t take anymore.

  He gripped her hips in his hands as she began to shudder around him and only when she had just begun to ease against him did he follow with his own release.

  “What was that?” He asked as she licked his shoulder, kissed his lips, trailed her mouth down his throat.