A Man of her Own Page 3

  Amelia patted Sarah’s hand. “I have two hundred guests coming, people who have paid good money to benefit my charity. They expect perfection from me because of my profession. I can’t afford to disappoint even one patron.”

  Sarah nodded again, chewing on her lower lip.

  “I don’t know where we’re going to find a chef who’s not already committed to a Derby Eve function,” Amelia said. “I called around yesterday and had absolutely no luck.”

  “Maybe we can do the cooking ourselves.”

  “Darling, I’m a notorious food critic. I certainly don’t have the talent it takes to prepare the food.”

  Sarah smiled at the complete irony of her aunt’s admission. Her aunt had no qualms about judging the “talent” of others.

  Amelia raised her chin haughtily. “Don’t say it. I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Me? I haven’t said a word.” Sarah tried to hide her grin.

  At that moment Henry called out from somewhere behind them, “Amelia, dear, I found an old friend at the betting window!”

  Her aunt quickly turned to gaze over her shoulder. “Ah, here comes Henry with our tickets, and he has a very handsome young man with him.”

  Her own gaze expectant, Sarah swiveled to watch Henry and his friend come down the steps. Her heart lurched suddenly, plummeting downward. It was the guy from the bar. Dumbstruck, she stared up at him.

  What a hunk. He looked so different in the gray daylight. Holding himself with unconscious dignity, his posture cried out wealth and success. A classic, two-button gray suit fit his upright frame to perfection, and his crisp, white dress shirt and burgundy striped silk tie were the image of exactness.

  Sarah blinked. The man’s deep-set blue eyes stared at her, burning with frightening intensity.

  Handsome, but cold. Impervious to someone like her. Sarah pressed her lips together and wondered how she ever figured this guy to be her Prince Charming.

  Before standing to greet her husband and his guest, Amelia dug her elbow in Sarah’s side. Getting the message, Sarah jumped to her feet and scrambled to slip into the second row of the box. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her. She wanted to disappear.

  Sarah’s quick move caused her to bump the chair with a knee. That chair knocked the one beside it, and her hardly touched mint julep toppled onto the concrete, the glass smashing into smithereens.

  “Oh, my!” She dropped quickly to a knee, reaching for a shard of broken glass.

  Strong fingers snagged her hand. “No, don’t do that. You’ll cut yourself.”

  Sarah hesitated, her wrist engulfed by the bar guy’s deliciously warm grasp.

  “I won’t cut myself.”

  He drew her to her feet. “You shouldn’t take chances.”

  The man with the breathtaking kiss stole her breath away one more time with his glance. “Don’t I know you?”

  “We met the other night—at the bar.”

  He dropped her hand. “You were looking for Prince Charming.”

  For the moment he seemed as surprised as she was about their chance meeting. Emotions swirled throughout her body, making her feel giddy. Sarah nodded, fighting the urge to duck her head. Instead she gathered courage and lifted her gaze, cocking an eyebrow and daring him to make fun of her.

  “You two know each other?” Henry asked.

  “We met briefly the other night. Miss Colby, I believe?” Disdain spiked the man’s voice.

  Please, don’t let him explain. She’d die if he told Amelia and Henry what she’d done.

  “Well, I don’t know your guest, Henry.” Amelia propelled herself into the conversation. “Introductions, if you please.”

  “I’m sorry, my dear. May I introduce a friend of mine, Lane Williams, the owner of the famous Racetrack Restaurant chain. Mr. Williams, my new wife, Amelia.”

  The man took Amelia’s outstretched hand, almost bowing over it in a mannerly way. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Sarah’s brain raced. Lane. Now she remembered his name. And she knew one more thing about him. He owned a restaurant. Not just one, but a whole string of them throughout the Midwest.

  “So you’re the one who’s created such a lovely dining experience.” Amelia’s words oozed approval.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lane shot Sarah a quick, hard glance.

  Her shoulders stiffened as she reeled under the onslaught of his obvious dislike.

  “Henry and I ate at your Louisville establishment last night, and I had the most delicious scampi.” Amelia kept up her chatter, oblivious to the tension Sarah sensed in the air. “It was to-die-for. I’ve eaten a lot of it over my lifetime, so I’m a good judge of excellence.”

  Lane shifted his gaze to Amelia and nodded. “I know.”

  Sarah lifted a startled eyebrow. Could he be referring to her aunt’s hefty physique?

  But Amelia didn’t seem surprised by his admission. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ve worked in New York.”

  Amelia’s eyes brightened. “Where?”

  “My last job was at Ripley’s. Eight years ago.” Lane’s features grew passive.

  “Oh, my.” Amelia raised a hand to her lips.

  The two exchanged knowing looks.

  Amelia turned to Henry. “I annihilated them,” she whispered in a theatrical voice. “But they deserved it. Such poor service. And the food was dreadful. I heard the executive chef was fired because of it.”

  Amelia turned to stare at Lane, who regarded them with a bland expression.

  “You’re not that chef, are you?” Amelia asked.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  Lane handled himself like a general, standing silently at ease, hands behind his back, his gaze riveted on them. There was something about his commanding presence. Sarah felt it as she hadn’t felt it at the bar. It tickled her nerves, slowly sending tingling sensations all the way down to her toes.

  Amelia offered a consoling smile, her mirth accentuated by her pudgy cheeks. “Well, Mr. Williams, I find I’m glad your setback was only temporary.”

  “I don’t take kindly to failure.”

  “Neither do I,” Henry interjected. “That’s why I’m going to bet my money on Lane when he takes his restaurants public.” He patted him on his back in that male manner.

  “Thank you.” Lane’s voice was deep and throaty. “Are you still doing restaurant reviews, Mrs. Carlisle?”

  Amelia glanced fleetingly toward Henry. “I’m a newlywed and semi-retired. I’m doing a book on regional cuisine. My niece Sarah is helping me.”

  His gaze, hooded by fringed black lashes, bore into Sarah. Her heartbeat jumped. This man seemed so formal. So formidable. She wanted to run and hide.

  “Will you stay and watch the races from our box?” Amelia asked.

  “No, I have seats in the reserved section upstairs.”

  With whom? Another woman? A pang of jealousy surprised Sarah.

  “Well, you can’t leave now.” Henry showed Lane into the second row of the box beside Sarah. “They’re at the post.”

  “I’ll wait then.”

  Sarah hastily stepped over, making room for him. He towered over her. She slanted him an upward glance, fighting the quiver in her stomach, only to be met with a gaze of half-concealed amusement.

  “Although it was dark, and you were dressed, er, differently, I’d remember you anywhere, Miss Colby.”

  He was right. The contrast between two nights ago and today couldn’t be more pronounced. Her appearance this afternoon was far from the sexy girl in the black cocktail dress. Now she dressed quite respectably in a conservative black suit and plain white blouse. She’d pulled her dark wavy hair back from her face and tied it at the nape of her neck. With neither the wardrobe nor the inclination, she didn’t dress the part of the wealthy horse owners who sat in this section of the grandstands.

  Sarah’s throat suddenly went dry. “I remembered you too, Mr. Williams.”


  “Have you found your prince yet?” he whispered in her ear.

  “No, but your kiss certainly was instructive.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “I’m glad I didn’t disappoint.”

  Heat flooded her face. Should she have made such a bold admission? Kissing guys in a bar had been a total departure from her usual self.

  “Yes, I think your chef is the answer to my prayers,” Amelia said turning to Henry just as the track announcer blared, “They’re off!”

  Sarah turned toward the starting gate to see the horses break. She lifted herself on tiptoes to get a better view. The horses thundered past the stands for the first time, jockeys vying for position. The field rounded the first turn.

  “Can you see?” Lane asked.

  “No, but that’s okay. I can hear the announcer.”

  Suddenly she felt his hands on her shoulder. He angled her in front of him so she could catch a glimpse of the horses if she looked between Amelia and the man in the next box. Unable to concentrate on the horses going down the backstretch, Sarah focused only on the touch of his fingers and the very faint fragrance of his citrus aftershave.

  “Go five!” Amelia cried.

  The horses came around the far turn. Running full out, they headed for home. The jockeys went to their whips. Catching the excitement of the stretch run, Sarah craned her neck. Number six closed on the front-running number three. Only number five stood in her way of winning the exacta box combination she’d put her money on.

  She broke free of Lane’s grip and began jumping up and down. “Go, six. You can do it!” Grabbing his coat sleeve, she willed number six to overtake the tiring five. “Go, go, go!”

  The crowd around them roared as the horses thundered toward the finish line. In the final few strides, six nosed past five and crossed the wire just a half length behind the number three horse.

  “We won!” Sarah twirled around and began pumping Lane’s arm. “We won the exacta!”

  Lane arched a dubious eyebrow. “You may have won, Miss Colby, but my money was on number five.” He deliberately tore his ticket in half and let the pieces drop. “To win.”

  Swallowing her elation, Sarah gazed up at him. “I’m sorry.”

  His dark eyes flashed. “Watching you enjoy your win was reward enough for me.”

  Was he joking? His manner was so stern, but there seemed to be a gleam of laughter in his eyes. Well, he certainly hadn’t found her amusing the other night. Not before or after that kiss. He’d thought her young and foolish. Just like now, when her competitiveness overcame her normal reserve. But darn it! This was the track. The thrill of winning was what it was all about.

  Amelia interrupted them, “Mr. Williams, I have a request.”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  She favored him with an ingratiating smile. “I find myself in a real bind, and am hoping you can offer a solution. You see, our personal chef broke her ankle yesterday.”

  Henry’s brows furrowed. “Amelia, what do you have in mind?”

  “It will be okay, Henry.” She patted his sleeve. “Chef Williams may be just the person who can help me.” She turned back to Lane. “The first Saturday in May is just three weeks away. I have two hundred guests coming to my benefit party on Derby Eve. Without help, I may have to cancel it. I really need your expertise.”

  “How can I be of service, Mrs. Carlisle?”

  “You own a restaurant.”

  “I’m not in the catering business.”

  Sarah’s head jerked up. It would be too good to be true for this beguiling hunk of a man—this man who could kiss her like she’d always dreamed of being kissed—ended up helping her aunt, even for a few weeks.

  “Oh, pooh. You’re a chef by trade, aren’t you?” She leveled a direct, no-nonsense look at him. “I pay very well.”

  “I don’t think money is an issue.”

  Henry cleared his throat. “Amelia, you can’t expect Lane to put aside his business concerns to help you plan your party.”

  “It’s for such a good cause, and I’m at my wits’ end, Henry.”

  Lane’s gaze skimmed slowly across Sarah’s face. “What is your charity?”

  “Breast cancer research. I’ve promised to raise fifty thousand dollars. You can see why I’m so distraught!”

  A muscle moved in Lane’s face.

  Sarah watched him covertly, dropping her gaze, and then sweeping him a glance under her eyelashes. Just as she’d willed number six to overtake number five, Sarah willed Lane to say yes.

  “I’m really in need of your help,” Amelia began again. “It will be such a big favor to me and Henry.”

  “As I said, Mrs. Carlisle. . . “

  “Call me Amelia.”

  “Amelia,” he amended. “As I said, I’m not in the catering business, but your charity is a worthy one. I’ll not only provide the catering services for your party, but if you’ll allow me, I’ll co-sponsor it.”

  “You will? Oh, thank you, thank you!” Amelia began to clap her hands.

  Lane’s magnanimous gaze shifted over them until it settled squarely on Sarah’s upturned face.

  She returned it, feeling heat burn her cheeks.

  Fate again. Or Amelia? Unwittingly, her aunt had had given her a chance to discover if this man with the mind-altering kiss was truly her Prince Charming.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sarah was determined to go riding. Although tired from a second sleepless night in a row, she didn’t want to waste a beautiful morning. Pausing at the white wooden fence that enclosed the emerald pastureland of Henry Carlisle’s “gentleman’s farm,” she placed her hands on the rough rail. In the field beyond, mares and foals grazed peacefully. It was so charming—so Kentucky.

  Henry called his hundred and twenty acres outside of Louisville “This Side of Heaven.” Sarah had to agree. Sounds of chirping sparrows in scrub cedar trees and the raucous cawing of crows as they flew overhead masked the distant buzz from an interstate highway. April sunshine warmed her face. Letting her lashes drift over her eyes, Sarah absorbed the peace of her surroundings.

  She wasn’t sure how Aunt Amelia had met Mr. Carlisle. She only knew that afterwards her aunt had begun to mellow. The mere presence of this generous man had transformed a driven tigress into a pussycat. Career no longer held the same importance for Amelia. She was content to cater to Mr. Carlisle’s whims, content to leave her fast-paced life in New York City for the genteel and serene life of the Kentucky countryside.

  Would the right man change her life so dramatically? Sarah hoped so. Since her mother’s death, no one in her family had made her feel loved for herself. When her dad was alive, he’d been too busy. He’d always discounted her scrapes and bruises by telling her they made her tough. Amelia had been preoccupied as well, and Sarah had often worried about becoming a burden to her aunt. Surely a man of her own would care for her differently. Deep down. Where it mattered.

  And then there was Lane. Handsome and sexy. Fierce and precise. She couldn’t clear her head of him. The memory of that kiss still rocked her. And their meeting at Keeneland had been a stroke of pure luck, almost as if it were meant to be. Somewhere deep inside, her heart knew Lane was the man of her dreams.

  Too bad her head needed more validation. She blew hot and cold about him. Was he really “Mr. Right”?

  Sarah gripped the railing. Lane had been so uptight that night at the bar. Had his problem been something more than the ridiculous kissing game? Maybe she’d been too honest with him.

  Yet she was dead serious about her wants and needs. Wasn’t it better to lay them out on the table right away? To make things perfectly clear? He’d certainly made it clear he wanted neither marriage nor family. A confirmed bachelor all the way.

  She opened her eyes. Bachelors had been known to see the error of their ways. And Lane had agreed to co-sponsor Amelia’s charity party. Just the idea of working with him sent her blood pumping fast and furious. Surely over the next few weeks, they’d come t
o know each other better. And who knew what that might lead to.

  With a wry smile, Sarah pushed away from the fence and headed toward the barn.

  Henry had made his money in real estate and later through shrewd investments. Now retired, he indulged himself in his passion for horses. He owned thoroughbreds for racing and American Saddlebreds for showing. These horses were in training, but he kept a few horses on his farm along with several retired Saddlebreds for riding.

  Horses were Sarah’s passion too. She knew them. They were in her blood, a legacy from life with her dad. She’d learned to ride early on. Sure, she’d never been allowed to ride the spirited thoroughbreds, but she’d hot-walked her share.

  Her mood lifted as she entered the dimly lit barn. Working for Amelia this summer instead of going to graduate school would give her time to indulge in her passion.

  The horse Henry allowed her to use was named “Kentucky Heritage” but called “Harry” for short. He was a bay gelding with a placid disposition and an eager way of going. Sarah spent several minutes grooming the big horse, and then tacked him up. She mounted by stepping on an overturned bucket.

  Leaving the stables, she guided old Harry along the bridle path through the woods and away from the outbuildings. Circling back, the dirt track paralleled the Carlisle’s private drive before skirting the pasture and returning to the barn.

  Riding usually unfettered her mind, letting her forget her problems. But today she couldn’t ignore the strange fascination she felt for a man who wanted nothing to do with the things in life she considered important.

  As she thought about him, warmth seeped through her from the spot between her thighs where her body touched the saddle. Pulsing sensations shot through her, sensations she’d never experienced while riding—sensations caused as much as from that last kiss in the bar as from her physical contact to the saddle.

  Thirty minutes later she rode along the driveway path. A car approached from behind. To be safe, she halted her horse to wait for the vehicle to pass. A snazzy, two-seater bronze Porsche Boxster pulled alongside and stopped. A man leaned across the seat.