Page 16 of Wanted 2

“Cream of Tartar,” Jeremy tapped the wooden spoon on a “Food and Wine” Magazine propped up against an empty eggshell carton.

“Must be in the pantry.” The Count nodded, and then he was heading back my way.

I dropped my gaze.

He slowed behind me, long enough to trail his fingers down my spine before he paused to breathe in my ear, “Like an instrument.”

God, I wanted him.

Then, he moved away.

It was just as well. With Jeremy in the room, there’d be no strapping the Count down to the island and having my way. I blew a heated breath.Time to behave, Kass.

“You can help, too,” Jeremy offered.

“I can’t,” I told my brother. “I’ve got to work.” I had bugs to find. Then, I eyed the messy kitchen and added, “And don’t forget to clean up your mess.”

He laughed.

I skipped out before the Count could emerge from the pantry once again to play me like whatever instrument he was imagining.

“We’ll call you when they’re done,” Jeremy called after me.

I smiled and dove back into my work.

Several times, I passed outside the kitchen door to hear Jeremy and the Count talking about various things as they puttered about, clanging pots and pans. The topics ranged from the Lunar effect, to aerodynamics, and on to Falconry. Falconry? I eavesdropped a bit on that one and learned that once, long ago, the Count liked to ride horses and hunt with his favorite Peregrine, Ecaterina.

When the souffles were ready, I was summoned back to the kitchen by a phone call. I was happy for the break. My knees ached from crawling around the floor, looking under all the furniture.

“Perfection,” the Count was saying as I entered.

They’d cleaned the kitchen, lit a few candles, and placed the souffles on a plate in the center of the island. They looked like something out of a magazine.

“Do they taste as good as they look?” I asked Jeremy.

He shrugged an 'I dunno' and said, “Dive in.”

There were only two plates. “I’m working—” I began.

“Nonsense,” the Count interrupted, sending me a look. “I’m not a slave owner. And I did invite you to enjoy a meal with your brother.”

The souffles smelled tempting and they looked so fancy. “But yourself?” I asked, puzzled.

“He says he’ll eat later,” Jeremy chimed in as he cozied up to the island. “Don’t know about you two, but I’m sure eating now.”

I watched the Count cross to the fridge and take out one of his dark wine bottles. Strange. I’d yet to see him eat, but then, maybe he had a health condition. Maybe.

I eyed his muscular form as he poured the last of the red wine into his goblet. Nah, he was the picture of health. And he was strong. He’d dangled my dad as if he’d weighed a feather, and he’d carried me around without even needing an extra breath. No doubt, he had one of those pure, strict diets, the kind that didn’t allow things like eggs, butter, and cheese. But somehow allowed wine?

The candlelight played over his handsome face as he just leaned against the counter, taking the occasional sip of his drink as Jeremy and I downed several souffles each.

The conversation was a wild one with Jeremy involved, and we spent the better part of an hour laughing—the Count included until finally, he took his leave.

“Shit,” I glanced at my watch. I had so much work to do.

I left Jeremy to put the food away and zipped back up the stairs to doggedly search for Don’s bugs.

If only I had a way out.