Falling for the Heiress. Christine Flynn

full advantage of his knowledge.

      She also wanted to know how he’d acquired it.

      “Where did you learn how to cook?”

      “From my mom.”

      “Is she a chef?”

      “She’s first violin with the Philadelphia Symphony. You need to put a few tablespoons of olive oil in this,” he said, clearly changing the subject as he set a pot on the eight-burner stove in the middle of the island. “If we were doing this right, you’d put the garlic in next, then open the tomatoes and add them. Since we’re not, just add the tomatoes to the oil.”

      “How much?”

      “The whole can.”

      “Oil, I mean.”

      “A few tablespoons,” he repeated. “It’s a matter of taste. A little more or less won’t hurt.”

      “Give me exact.”

      With a pen poised above a notepad, she looked much as he imagined a young student might waiting for a teacher to proceed. Yet it wasn’t her expectation that struck him as he found measuring spoons for her and she dutifully wrote out his instructions before adding the ingredients precisely as he instructed. It was how young she looked each time she glanced up to make sure she’d done the step correctly or to ask what came next, how very innocent and how incredibly, unbelievably tempting.

      The texture of her skin all but invited a man’s touch. Her lush lips fairly begged to be kissed. And a man would have to be dead not to notice the appealing concern in her lovely dark eyes when an uncertain, “Mommy?” had her abandoning everything to turn to the hallway.

      “I’m right here,” she called. “Will that be all right?” she asked with a quick glance back at the pot.

      He’d no sooner told her he would watch it than she headed for the sleepy-looking child who’d wandered toward the sound of her voice.

      She scooped him up and turned, smiling, with him in her arms.

      Parker had known beautiful women. They’d been arm candy for rich clients or the men’s daughters, wives or mistresses. He’d guarded female rock stars and models and on occasion found himself in the unenviable position of having to decline advances he wouldn’t have minded pursuing, on a purely recreational basis, had company policy not frowned on fraternization.

      But recalling company policy wasn’t necessary as he deliberately dismissed the sharp physical pull he felt toward Tess. It wasn’t even necessary to remind himself that she was Cord Kendrick’s little sister and that the only reason he’d recommended Parker was because he knew he could trust him.

      Shifting his attention to the boy as she set him down and took his hand, all Parker had to do was remind himself that she had robbed the child of a relationship with his natural father.

      That alone was enough to dampen the heat.

      The little boy with the button nose and big brown eyes stared at him uneasily. A tuft of his cornsilk hair stuck up in back.

      His mom smoothed it down.

      Snagging his slacks above his knees, Parker crouched down to bring himself more or less to the child’s level.

      “Great shirt,” he said, smiling at the logo above the tiny pocket. “Do you play soccer?”

      Smashed against his mom’s leg, Mikey nodded. “I have a ball.”

      “You do?”

      Fine blond hair brushed his eyebrows as he gave a vigorous nod.

      “You’ll have to show it to me sometime.”

      Without moving from where his arm wrapped his mom’s leg, he tipped back his head and looked up at her. “Do I have my soccer ball?”

      “It’s not unpacked yet.”

      “Can I show it to him when it is?”

      “If Mr. Parker wants to see it.”

      Parker gave the boy a wink.

      Mikey grinned.

      Planting his hands on his knees, Parker rose to tower over them both.

      “That can simmer for a while,” he said, nodding toward her creation. With the little boy looking a little less wary of him, Parker pulled his professionalism back into place. “Where do you plan to eat?”

      “It’s so nice outside, I thought we’d eat out there. Unless you’d prefer the dining room,” she offered, much as she might to a guest.

      He was not a guest. He was her employee. “I’ll eat at the staff table.” Distance seemed prudent. So did boundaries. “Why don’t you show me around the house now?”

      The unexpected ease Tess had started to feel with him vanished like smoke in a stiff wind. She had just been quite pointedly reminded that there were certain distances to maintain. Certain protocols to follow. She had thought they would eat together simply because it was only the three of them and it hadn’t seemed right that he should eat alone. Especially since he’d shown her how to prepare the meal.

      The reserve he had just pulled into place brought a tug of embarrassment. The way his manner changed so quickly almost made it seem as if he thought she’d been coming on to him. She wasn’t sure she’d know how to come on to a guy even if she wanted to. Despite what Brad had told the world about her supposed inability to settle for one man, she was nowhere near as experienced as he’d portrayed her to be. Certainly not as experienced as the press had assumed in its relentless attempt to discover her nonexistent lovers.

      It hadn’t helped that one enterprising reporter claimed to have unearthed two of them, then gone on to explain that they had refused to go public out of respect for how special the relationships had been. It had been the sort of tabloid treachery that couldn’t be refuted without adding fuel to the fire but fed the gossip and scandal just the same.

      Hating where her thoughts had gone, she straightened her shoulders, smiled politely and took her son by the hand. Reenergized, Mikey could inadvertently do serious damage to her mother’s Mings. The large, ornate vases flanking the foyer staircases had survived for over four hundred years. Not only her mother but museum directors and antique dealers all over the country would weep to discover that in his first couple of hours in the house a three-year-old whirlwind had caused a crack or a chip, much less destroyed one.

      She really needed her own place.

      Doing her best imitation of her sister’s cool poise, she moved through the swinging door leading to the family dining room. Mikey trotted along beside her, looking around to check out the man following them. She felt like a tour guide as she called off the names of the still and silent rooms they entered and left. The music salon, the living room that was seldom lived in at all and used mostly for entertaining, the library, her father’s study, her mother’s office. The sunroom. The atrium. The family room. The game room. And that was before Parker helped her carry up the luggage he’d brought in along with the bags Eddy had left beside them and they went through the two wings of bedroom suites upstairs

      Parker said little as he lifted back drapes, checked out windows and doors and looked up at the ceiling in search of heaven only knew what. She had no idea how his mind worked. She knew only that it was with some relief that he disappeared to retrieve his own luggage from the SUV while she and Mikey dined on the first meal she’d ever made.

      The fact that it was good—very good—filled her with a definite sort of relief.

      At least her son wouldn’t starve.

      She would have thanked Parker for that. She didn’t see him, though, until after she had dumped their dishes in the sink, too tired to tackle them that night, and he knocked on her bedroom door.

      Chapter Three

      Tess was now officially exhausted. She’d lost nearly