“Have a few bites of grapefruit first. That one is especially sweet.”
Darcy picked up her spoon and scooped up a section. It was as good as promised. “Yes, this is wonderful too, but—”
“You needn’t rush off,” Griffin assured her. “I’ve decided to buy that big iron fish. Can you devise some way to hang it in the garden you’re planning for me?”
Darcy swallowed the bite of grapefruit with a hasty gulp. “Griffin, you don’t have to pay for my time.”
“Of course not, that would be prostitution. Is that what you think I’m suggest
ing?”
“No, I think you’re trying to help us earn enough money to move. That’s sweet, in a perverse sort of way, but you needn’t do it.”
“What if I just happen to like that spectacular goldfish?”
He looked hurt, and she wondered if she’d misunderstood his motives. She took another bite of the heavenly omelet. “All right, if you really want the goldfish, we might hang it on the arbor we’ll have to build to support the wisteria vine.”
Griffin thought for a moment. “Yes, that would work, and then it could be seen from the terrace. What about a fountain?”
“Lined with Spanish tile?”
“Wouldn’t that be appropriate?”
“Yes. If you want a fountain, I’ll add one. Did you want it at the front or on the terrace?”
“I’ll have to think about it. Maybe both.”
Darcy reached out to take his hand. “I really like you, Griffin, and it has nothing to do with whatever business you might send my way. Now, we agreed to separate business and pleasure, so I really shouldn’t be discussing landscaping from your bed.”
Griffin broke into a broad grin. “I didn’t consider that when I mentioned the fish. I’ll leave so you can get dressed, but I sure hated to wake you when you looked so at home in my bed.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Griffin stood, then leaned down to kiss her. “That wasn’t a complaint.”
Darcy remained in bed for several minutes after he’d left the handsomely decorated room. She glanced around and imagined herself waking up there every morning, but a pup tent would be equally inviting if Griffin shared it.
She took a couple more bites of omelet and grapefruit and, without Griffin to distract her, noticed the sterling silver pattern featured not simply a modern swirl, but a music note. It was attractive, appropriate, and undoubtedly a custom design.
Unwilling to consider what twelve place settings must have cost, she got up and went into the wisteria bathroom to shower for the second time that day. Griffin had folded her clothes so they were unwrinkled. Damp from the shower, her hair fell into place with a brush of her fingertips.
She picked up her breakfast tray to return it to the kitchen, but because his bathroom had indeed proven to be artful perfection, she decided to look in on the others. She carried the tray to the top of the stairs, set it down and went back to explore.
She began with the bedroom next to Griffin’s, but when she opened the door, she could only stare, for rather than the empty space he’d led her to expect, there was a haphazard collage of maps tacked to the wall and several tables topped with glowing computers. A printer spewed out a steady stream of documents, but she was too shocked to investigate their source. Frightened that Griffin had failed to mention he was running such an ambitious enterprise, she turned to leave and ran right smack into him.
“Find anything interesting?” he asked.
“I just wanted to see the other bathrooms,” Darcy hastened to explain. “But this looks like a war room. What are you doing here, Griffin?” She doubted he could actually be the drug kingpin Mary Beth had imagined, but he was definitely up to something.
“Nothing even remotely sinister,” Griffin swore. “The computers are programmed to answer fan mail. It’s a sophisticated set-up which allows them to respond to email in the language it was sent. They also keep track of how many times a fan has contacted me, so the same reply is never repeated.
“They provide a suitably grateful response, list my upcoming concert dates and information on ordering CDs. Other computers answer letters in the same warmly appreciative way. A clerk in my agent’s office enters the sender’s name and address, and the response is printed here so that I can sign it. The mail is still coming through, so apparently Karen didn’t believe me when I fired her.
“What did you think I was doing, tracking satellites, or managing an off-shore gambling operation?”
His relaxed explanation made perfect sense, but, glancing toward the maps, Darcy was still alarmed. She’d always relied on her instincts where men were concerned, and she truly felt things weren’t nearly as innocent as he insisted they were.
“I suppose you use the maps to keep track of concert tours?”