Mysterious Millionaire

As she leaned close to Ben to fill his water glass, her stomach let loose with a roar loud enough to stop conversation at that end of the table.

Patrice glared at her.

Rachel gaped.

Gallantly, Ben patted his own belly. “Excuse me,” he said. “I must be enjoying the meal.”

Instead of being grateful, Liz felt a surge of annoyance. She didn’t need for him to rescue her from embarrassment; she had nothing to be ashamed of. But her cheeks burned. Another blush?

At that moment, she hated all these people with their expensive clothes, hidden agendas and cost-a-fortune dishes. She remembered every time she’d been hungry—not from a self-imposed diet but because she couldn’t afford a loaf of bread. In the real world, stomachs growled, and she wanted to stand up and take credit. Demure, silent serving definitely wasn’t her thing.

Tony Lansing waggled his cocktail glass at her. “I’d like another.”

“Yes, sir.”

Though he was the only person drinking hard liquor, the others had gone through more than a dozen bottles of wine. The pipe-cleaner woman next to Ben had barely touched her food but managed to polish off several glasses of Chablis. She leaned to the left like the Tower of Pisa.

Downstairs at the bar, Liz attacked the garnishes in the fridge, devouring a blood orange in two seconds flat. Of course, she drooled the juice onto the front of her uniform. Of course.

Her choices were to go through the rest of the meal with a big, fat stain on her chest or to wash it out and be soggy. Another idea popped into her head. She could go up to her maid’s garret bedroom and change—maybe using the time to make a quick search in Ben’s bedroom.

After she delivered the vodka to Tony Lansing, she pointed out the stain to Rachel. “I should change.”

“No time,” she said. “Clear the dinner plates. Serve the dessert. Then you can change.”

She whipped through her duties, noting that a couple of guests had already left the table to take bathroom breaks or “freshen up.”

As soon as the last dessert plate was delivered, she headed for the back staircase, ducking into a darkened hallway off the kitchen. There was just enough light for her to see a couple locked in a passionate kiss.

Consumed by desire, they didn’t notice her. But Liz soaked in every detail. The bouncy blond hair belonged to Charlene. The man was the very polished lawyer, Tony Lansing. Their embrace put a whole different light on Jerod’s changed will. They might be working together to siphon all the money away from the Crawford estate. Should she tell Ben? Was it any of her business?

The overhead hallway light flashed on. Ramon charged past her.

“Bastard,” he shouted as he stalked toward the couple.

Charlene and Tony broke apart. In the sudden burst of light, she blinked wildly. Her bruised lips parted in a breathless gasp. Tony seemed disoriented, which wasn’t a surprise to Liz. The lawyer had tossed back a gallon of wine and three vodkas during dinner.

Ramon’s arm raised over his head.

Liz saw the glint of light on a kitchen knife. Her reaction was pure reflex. She kicked hard at the back of Ramon’s knee, sending him sprawling against the wall.

He whirled, facing her. “Stay out of this,” he warned.

“Drop your weapon.”

He lowered the blade, threatening her.

There wasn’t much room to maneuver in the narrow corridor, and the skirt on her uniform restricted her ability to kick high. Aiming carefully, she delivered a quick chop to his wrist. The knife clattered to the floor.

Ramon blocked her next blow. He flung his entire body at her, pinning her to the wall. His breath smelled like the inside of a garbage disposal. “Not so tough now, are you?”

The only way out of this hold was a knee to the groin as soon as he gave her the space to strike. And she was looking forward to that ultimately disabling attack.

Before she could act, Ramon was yanked away from her and thrown facedown on the floor.

Ben stood over his prone body with the heel of his boot planted firmly between Ramon’s shoulder blades. He turned toward Liz. “Are you all right?”

“I could have taken him down,” she said as she adjusted her stained uniform. “I don’t need you to rescue me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He looked down at the knife on the floor, then confronted Tony and Charlene. “I want an explanation.”

“A misunderstanding,” Tony said smoothly. “Nothing to worry about.”

“He lies,” Ramon wailed from the floor. “He has insulted me. And my beautiful Charlene.”

Ben lifted him off the floor as if the muscular young man weighed no more than a sack of feathers. Ben’s large hand clamped around Ramon’s throat.

“Charlene is Jerod’s wife,” Ben reminded him. “She doesn’t belong to you.”

Charlene rushed forward. “Let him go, Ben.”

“I want this son of a bitch out of here.”

“Too damned bad.” Charlene tossed her head. “This is my house. I say who stays and who goes. Ramon amuses me.”

A vein in Ben’s forehead throbbed, and Liz sympathized with his anger. Some women enjoyed having men fight over them; the danger acted as an aphrodisiac. Indeed, Charlene appeared to be turned on. Her lips drew back from her whitened teeth. “I want Ramon to stay. And Tony, too.”

The lawyer found his voice. “Actually, I should be going. Thought I could catch a ride with Doctor Al.”

“If you must,” Charlene said.

“Thank you,” he said in a formal tone that was comical, given the threatening situation. “For a lovely evening.”

When the lawyer sidled out of the hallway, Ben released his hold on Ramon who slouched forward, rubbing his throat.

“One more thing,” Ben said to him. “Apologize to the lady.”

Ramon turned toward Charlene. “You know I would never hurt you. From the bottom of my heart, I am—”

“Not her,” Ben interrupted by physically turning him toward Liz. “Apologize to this lady.”

Ramon’s dark eyebrows pulled down in an angry scowl. His full lips pursed as he forced the words. “I am sorry.”

“Accepted,” Liz said quickly. She definitely wanted this episode to be over.

“There,” Charlene said. “Everything’s fine. And the night is young. I want to have some real fun tonight.”

In a low, dangerous voice, Ben warned, “Be careful what you ask for, Charlene.”