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I might have wandered through those luxurious labyrinthine hallways forever, but after about fifteen minutes my stomach rumbled in response to the delicious smells being wafted from somewhere nearby: sizzling bacon, baking bread, fresh squeezed orange juice…
It was way past time for a proper breakfast.
I tried to follow the scent, but instead of leading me to the kitchen, I stumbled into a room full of animal heads. Lions, rhinoceroses, tigers, wolves, cougars, panthers, and bears leered at me with glass eyes from the walls, their mouths twisted in frozen snarls.
“Sweet baby Jesus, that’s creepy,” I muttered.
“I know, right?” a perky voice said. “Hey, you want some breakfast, or should I leave you to your safari?”
I whirled, and saw a plump young woman with a brilliant smile, her curly black hair barely tamed by a ponytail, and her friendly brown eyes sparkling with amusement. With her dark slacks and button down, she had to be a member of the staff. But which one?
“Sorry to spook you,” she said, stepping forward and offering her hand. “I’m Martha. I heard someone walking around and figured that this maze of a house had claimed its latest victim. If you need some provisions for your exploration, I can guide you to the kitchen. We’ve got pretty much every kind of breakfast food you could imagine, and a few you can’t.”
“I’ve got a pretty good imagination,” I said, shaking her hand. “But I thank you.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to imagine the things we keep on tap for the U.K. ambassador,” she said. “I’m going to go ahead and say one of them as a warning: fish paste. As in paste, made of fish. And gelatin.”
“Wow,” I said. “Warning appreciated. I’m a simple girl, though, so can I just get some bacon and eggs sunny side up?”
“That and a side of fruit, plus coffee that’ll put hair on your chest. Er, metaphorically,” she as**sured me. “I don’t think I caught your name…”
“Oh my goodness, that was so rude of me, I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Allison Bartlett, but please call me Ally. Very pleased to meet you, and not just because you’re offering me bacon.”
Martha led the way out of the room of stuffed animal heads, and I followed, trying to keep track of the route. I didn’t want to take a wrong turn when I was on my own and starve to death, after all.
“So, are you the cook?” I asked to make conversation.
“Oh, sweet f**king Christ on a cupcake, no!” she blurted, and then covered her mouth with her hand, giggling. “Sorry. I just had a vision of me trying to work a blender to make anything other than a banana daiquiri and it was absolutely horrifying. Nah, I’m Mr. Knox’s personal as**sistant.”
“Well, either way, you’re a lifesaver,” I said. “I feel like I could get lost in this place for days.”
“Yeah, Theseus and the minotaur had nothing on this place,” Martha agreed. “Last time the British ambassador was visiting, we thought he had left after an argument with Mr. Knox over the history of Scotch, but it turned out he had just taken a wrong turn in the library and gotten stuck in the greenhouse. Want me to make you a map after breakfast?”
“More than I’ve ever wanted anything else,” I as**sured her.
She grinned. “I have a feeling we’re going to be friends.”
#
“I don’t think I can take another bite, and that is a goddamn tragedy,” I said.
It truly was. The bacon was just the right mix of crispy and tender, seasoned with hickory smoke and honey, and the eggs were cooked perfectly, sprinkled in fresh-cracked pepper and with just enough yolk spreading from them to dip the bacon in. The bread was hot out of the oven and spread with butter from the plantation’s own cows, and over that Irish orange marmalade or blackberry jam from the cellar. The orange juice was just-squeezed, the pineapple just off the tree and bursting with flavor. The coffee tasted like what would happen if you caffeinated Heaven.
“One more bite,” I promised myself, and moaned in ecstasy as the piece of pineapple burst between my teeth.
And of course that was the exact moment that Hunter came in. When I was moaning like a po**rn star.
The universe hates me so, so much.
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s one way to enjoy breakfast.”
I raised my cloth napkin, pretending to wipe my mouth but mostly attempting to cover up a blush that was actively trying to make my face burst into flames.
It definitely didn’t help that he was wearing a tight T-shirt that clung to his sweaty, rugged frame like it couldn’t bear to let go. Not that I could blame it.
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