Page 17 of Wicked Rush

Chapter Seven

Frustrated, Lars swiped his hand across his mouth. He couldn’t fathom what had Braelynn so scared she couldn’t even tell him where she lived. Although her data had been scrubbed, he’d still been able to find out her coast side address in La Jolla.

The sound of the doorbell ringing interrupted his racing thoughts, and he glanced at the monitor. Seth. Fuck. He’d forgotten they were supposed to go surfing before he headed out to his appointments. Lars tapped a code into the security system’s control pad and spoke into the intercom. “Hey, come on in.”

Worried he’d burn the meal, he quickly removed the dish from the oven and set it onto a stone trivet. The sound of the door closing echoed throughout the house, and he gave a small wave to his friend.

“Niiiice,” Seth greeted him, running his hand through his shaggy blonde hair. Making himself comfortable, he slid onto one of the leather-bound stools, and reached for a piece of bacon.

“Sorry,” Lars said, referring to the plans they’d made.

He’d already called his secretary, rescheduling meetings. Lars considered asking Seth to leave but as he glanced out to the pool, he thought that perhaps he could use a second opinion. His attraction to the lovely woman on his deck had clouded his judgement. He’d already gone as far as telling her she wasn’t leaving his house. At the time it had seemed the best course of action, but now, with her in his robe, making his cock stir with the simple sound of her voice, he wasn’t so sure.

“No worries. Smells awesome. What is that? Looks kind of heavy before going out for a ride but what the hell?” He reached for the pitcher of orange juice and an empty glass. “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble for me.”

“I didn’t.” Lars glanced outside and back to Seth.

“I wish I could cook like you. I just don’t have it in me. Now my ma, she could make any…” Seth went quiet, scanning the kitchen. He craned his neck to see around Lars, then stilled. “Wait. Is there a…” Seth pushed off the seat far enough to view Braelynn’s brightly colored painted toes. “Yes…ah, ha, there is a woman. A beautiful woman, I bet.” He gave a laugh. “Dude, you could have told me. I’ll just leave.”

“No, don’t.” Lars held up his palm. “Stay.”

“You sure? I don’t want to interrupt anything.” Attempting to get a better look, he stood, straining to see.

“Sit down,” Lars commanded, keeping his voice low.

“What’s the big secret? You’ve got a girl.” He shrugged.

“Not just any girl,” Lars replied with a small grin. He shook his head and opened a drawer, rummaging through it looking for a pie server.

“Ah, I love intrigue.” Seth laughed and sipped his juice. “I mean who could make Lars Elliott whisper in his own house? Can’t be bubble-headed red?” Seth leaned over and peeked once again. “No, a brunette. Can’t see her face. Hmm…Sloane from the club. I can’t believe you’d sleep with her. I mean I know she’s been after you for months but you told me you weren’t interested. I don’t get why you’d…”

“Not Sloane.” Lars lifted his eyes for a second to address the accusation then continued his task. “Where the fuck is the damn server?”

“Use a butter knife.”

Lars stopped cold, glancing to him. “Dude, it’s a casserole. Homemade. I’m not butchering it with a damn butter knife.”

“Homemade, huh? She must be pretty special.”

“Oh, she’s special all right.” Lars rolled his eyes, continuing his task.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t see much of her. Tan calves. Blue toes,” he noted. “What the hell is she doing in that damn robe?”

“She’s probably just a little hungover from her spill into the ocean last night.” Lars held up the shiny triangular instrument in triumph. “Found it!”

“Congratulations,” Seth responded, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Jesus, you’d think you were a woman.”

“I’m a cook, asshole. Cooking is an art. Neither masculine nor feminine.” He pointed the utensil at Seth with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatev. Stop stalling. Who’s the girl?”

“She’s…she’s someone who I’ve wanted to get with for a long time.” Lars plunged the server into the pastry and began to slice it.

“A girl from the club? Does she skydive? Surf?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“So…she hasn’t been to Altura? Interesting.”