Page 40

“I’ll…uh…be back,” he muttered. “Looking forward to dinner.” Lie. Bald-faced lie.

He bolted, relief washing over him as he slid into the back seat of his SUV.

In the front, his guards exchanged knowing smirks.

“Lying’s only gonna piss her off more, Boss,” one said.

“I know,” Paulo groaned, rubbing his face. “Any tips?”

The driver snorted. “Yeah, don’t get involved with feisty Irish women with big blue eyes.”

Paulo’s glare shot forward like a bullet, but it only made them laugh harder as the SUV rolled down the drive.

Chapter 28

Madelaine was going crazy. That was the only possible explanation for why her eyes had followed Paulo all the way out of the kitchen. And it was definitely the only explanation for the pang of sadness tugging at her chest now that he was out of sight.

Insanity. Total insanity.

“Now carefully fold in the egg whites,” Rosa instructed patiently, “but be gentle so you don’t lose their fluffiness.”

Madelaine tried. She really did. But focusing on egg whites when her mind was spinning was nearly impossible. Every attempt she’d made in the kitchen so far had ended in disaster. Everything turned out burnt, undercooked, glued-together, or just plain toxic. Rosa could make the exact same recipe, standing right beside her, and hers would be perfection. Madelaine’s always came out like a science failure.

Where was Paulo going?

She shook her head, trying to banish the thought, and focused on folding the egg whites into her batter. Except…why did hers look like muddy river sludge when Rosa’s looked like molten chocolate?

Was Paulo with his bodyguards? If her father was around, Paulo could be in danger. Ronan Keane wouldn’t hesitate to shoot, stab, or blow someone up if it meant getting what he wanted.

Concentrate! Paulo was fine. He’d survived decades in this business. He knew what he was doing.

“Now what?” Madelaine asked, her voice a little higher than normal. Meanwhile, her anxiety supplied images of Paulo in a shootout, ducking behind cars. Did he even know how to duck? Or was he one of those men who thought ducking was an insult to their pride?

“Why don’t you mix your egg whites in a bit more?” Rosa suggested kindly, nodding at Madelaine’s bowl. “Those patches of white will cook that way and you’ll have scrambled chocolatey eggs instead of brownies.”

Madelaine blinked, realizing that her batter still had streaks of foam. So, she stirred harder, perhaps a little too hard, but her mind still stuck on Paulo. Were his SUVs bulletproof? Did he wear Kevlar?

“That’s too hard, dear,” Rosa cautioned.

Madelaine looked down and groaned. Yep. Her batter had gone from sludge-like to outright glue. “Darn it!” she whispered, glaring at the mixture with complete confusion.

“It’s okay,” Rosa soothed, though her tone suggested it really wasn’t okay.

Madelaine compared her bowl to Rosa’s again. One looked edible. The other looked… not. Another disaster, no doubt. But then she remembered Paulo’s horrified face earlier when she’d promised to bring him the results of her efforts, and she brightened.

Disasters could still serve a purpose.

“Okay, into the oven!” she declared cheerfully, ignoring Rosa’s raised eyebrows.

Once the pans were in, Rosa shut the oven and set the timer. They wiped their hands, and Madelaine reached for the dirty bowls. “I’ll do the dishes,” she offered, determined to be useful somehow.

“Nonsense,” Rosa cut her off instantly. Madelaine could almost see the woman remembering the pot incident. The pot that had been “virtually indestructible” until Madelaine had scrubbed the handle right off.

“I promise I won’t break anything this time,” Madelaine vowed solemnly.

Rosa just waved her toward the door. “Why don’t you go work on your art? I know that Paulo’s assistant brought over some supplies for you. I told him to put them in the sunroom. Besides, I enjoy cleaning. It soothes me.”

Madelaine sagged, defeated. But then she remembered the clawed hand she’d been working on earlier, the one with swollen knuckles made of pebbles, and her mood lifted again. Plus, her curiosity got the better of her at Rosa’s mention of “supplies”. So, she took off the apron and folded it carefully before turning to leave. “Okay. But if you need me, just call.”