Snowbound SeductionBy: Melissa Schroeder
Elaine Masterson had had enough. She stood in the kitchen, the entire staff watching her and Trevor MacMillian. They were waiting to see what she would do.
For six long months, she’d put up with him, his complaints, and his lifestyle. She had always been considered the most professional of chefs. People loved working with her. Trevor did not. And he made sure to nitpick every little mistake he thought she had made. But calling her names went beyond anything he had done before. He had stepped over the line.
“What did you call me?” she asked, her teeth clenched so tight her jaw ached. From the moment they had opened the restaurant, the man had been the bane of her existence. He had quibbled and prodded. He questioned her abilities in the kitchen. Tonight, though, was the last straw. He settled his hands on his hips and took a step closer. Even with the aromatic scents of the kitchen surrounding her, she could smell him—deep, dark, delicious. It teased her senses. That irritated her more than his comment.
“I think you bloody well heard what I said, but I will repeat it for everyone. You are the most uptight and untalented chef I have ever worked with. You wouldn’t know a bloody croissant from a ganache. I wonder on a daily basis how you ever made it out of pastry class.”
Her anger flashed to a full blaze. Never in her life had she ever been so mad…or so hurt. Without thinking, she looked to her left, picked up the whipped cream she had asked for, and upended the bowl over his head.
“Bugger off,” she said, with relish. Satisfaction filled her as she watched him wipe the delicate cream out of his eyes. Elaine knew this was the one moment she might ever see the idiot at a loss for words. Her moment of triumph was cut short when their partner said from behind her, “What the bloody hell is going on in here?”
Elaine Masterson studied the Canadian Rockies as they flew by her car window. The jagged snow-covered rocks stood out against the fading sun. Normally, they would take her breath away. She had never been to this area of Canada before, and it was awe inspiring. Any normal person would be entranced with the idyllic scene she was being exposed to. Instead, she wondered if her driver was taking her out to the woods to kill her.
She glanced at the man in question. Harold. It was the only name he gave her. He was probably in his late forties, with long gray hair, a large and very crooked nose, and eyes so small she couldn’t quite discern their color. That was one thing she thought she should know—the color of her killer’s eyes.
She shook that thought away. Her imagination always did get her into trouble. There was no music or talking in the car, and that was another thing that bothered her. Long uncomfortable silences reminded her a little too much of her childhood. She cleared her throat to gain his attention. Harold said nothing. Of course he didn’t. His mind was probably occupied on where to dump her body.
“How much longer?” she asked.
“Just up around the bend here and we’ll be there. We got it all ready for you, as per Mr. McConnell’s instructions.”
Great, now Mick was in on the killing. She wouldn’t doubt it. The last few months had been horrible at the restaurant. Mick had warned her and Trevor both he would kill one of them in the end. Now he had sent her to a snowy wasteland to have her whacked. She should have been suspicious when he offered her the cabin for the weekend.
As a girl who grew up in the south, she liked snow. It was so peaceful as it fell. She liked to sit by her window and watch as it landed on the ground without a sound. Her only problem was that even after living in France for a couple years, she didn’t know how to drive in it. Or dress for it. Or deal with it.
“There you go,” Harold said, breaking into her thoughts.
She turned, and her breath caught in her throat. It was the epitome of dream log cabin. It was huge, bigger than she expected, with a floor to ceiling window in the front. Elaine could just imagine the view as the sun rose over the Rockies in the morning. When he parked in the driveway she could only sit and stare.
She shook herself and looked at him. “Sorry. I guess I’m tired from the flight.”
“I’ll help you with your bags.”