My mouth fell open, though really, I shouldn’t have been surprised. The local woman I’d hired to help with meals was a bit of a wild child.
He shrugged at my expression. “What can I say? She offered.”
“I bet she did,” I muttered.
“Besides, hard-to-get is much more fun,” he declared.
Again, I wondered. Joke or pure flirt?
I stood to go. “Then prepare to have fun for a long, long time. Oh, and thanks for the snow globe.” I shook it as I opened the back door, making flakes swirl around Brussels Town Hall.
He heaved a tragic sigh. “You’re welcome.”
The doorbell rang, and a moment later, Henrik called through the house.
“A visitor for you, Mina.” Then he added in a disapproving hiss, “That police officer friend of yours.”
My stomach sank. Clement? Here? Now?
A police officer was the last person I wanted around a house full of supernaturals with checkered pasts.
“Speaking of men you could sleep with…” Bene murmured.
“Bene!” I admonished.
“Seriously, Mina. Why hold out for a guy who takes off without a word?”
He was right, dammit.
“And lucky you for having a range of choices,” Bene went on. “Most women would envy you.”
“Ha. Would they also envy my leaky roof, busted plumbing, and renovation bills?”
Bene grinned. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”
Deciding he meant restoring the château and not carrying on with three men at one time, I hurried to the entry hall.
“Clem,” I said, trying to summon enthusiasm.
“Mina.” He doffed his hat and lit up, making me feel guiltier than ever.
We traded three kisses, then stepped back. Well, I stepped back. Clem barely moved, gazing at me dreamily.
I could have beaten my head against a wall. I had two stunningly attractive men practically throwing themselves at me here at the château, but the only man I really wanted was AWOL.
“So, what brings you here?” I prompted.
Clement snapped out of whatever impossible fantasy he’d been entertaining and held up a pastry box.
“Madame Martin sends her regards.”
I sighed. “Still trying to set us up, huh?”
He nodded. “Her and everyone else in town.”
“Except Jacques,” I muttered. The portly, fifty-plus farmer hit on me every chance he could.
Clement’s eyes took on a dangerous sheen, and I waved my hands. “Don’t worry about Jacques.”
