allow me to inform you that you have a hell of a lot to learn about diplomacy."
"Meaning I ought to learn how to make commands sound like requests?" he drawled.
Disdaining to answer that before she'd even had her morning c offee, Kimberly slammed the door in his face. Half an hour later when she strode into the kitchen dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a peach-colored shirt, she sniffed appreciatively at the aroma that greeted her. "Not bad, Cavenaugh. Not bad at all." She examined the eggs he was scrambling at the stove. A stack of toast was keeping warm in the oven. "I do my best to please," he murmured.
Kimberly grinned.
"Something tells me you just happened to be hungry yourself. Not that I'm complaining. I can't even remember the last time someone cooked breakfast for me. I'll enjoy it while I can." She opened the refrigerator. "What do you want on your eggs?"
"Anything but hot sauce." She tossed him a disapproving glance. "You don't know what you're missing. I love it on my eggs." Pulling the huge bottle of pepper sauce from the refrigerator she carried it toward the counter.
Actually, having Darius Cavenaugh around was rather interesting, she decided privately. What would it be like living in his house for a few days? Setting down the hot sauce, Kimberly leaned across the counter to collect a couple of napkins. It was then her eyes fell on the opened envelope from the lawyers.
Instantly the good mood she had been indulging evaporated as she realized that Cavenaugh must have read the letter. "What's this all about?" she demanded softly, holding up the opened envelope. Cavenaugh didn't pause in the act of dishing out the eggs. "That's what I was going to ask you."
"You opened this!" He nodded, putting the frying pan into the sink and picking up the two plates. She stared at him in stunned amazement. He didn't even appear mildly embarrassed. "You deliberately opened a private letter!"
"I was curious."
"Curious! My God, Cavenaugh, what gives you the right to be curious about my personal correspondence?" she flung furiously. He still appeared unperturbed.
"In my experience letters from lawyers often spell trouble. Since you didn't seem interested in opening it I thought I'd better." She sat down weakly on the stool beside him, feeling more amazement than anything else. "I can't believe you had the nerve to do something like this." He slanted her a glance.
"Who are the Marlands, Kim?"
"To blithely open someone else's private mail. It's incredible. There are laws against that sort of thing." she went on, ignoring his question. "Kim, who are the Marlands? Why have they hired that law firm to contact you? Why are they asking you to meet with them?"
"Are you this high-handed with all those people you have working for you and living with you? If so, I don't see how you keep your employees. Your relatives must find you absolutely infuriating."
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"Kim," he interrupted patiently. "Just answer my questions."
"Why should I?"
He muttered something short and explicit under his breath. "Because if you don't answer my questions, I'm liable to contact that law firm myself and find out what's going on. "First invasion of privacy and now threats," she gritted.
"Kim, just be reasonable about this, all right?
I'm only trying to find out if you've got real trouble. Maybe it's got something to do with that character at the window last night. Maybe we're way off base thinking he was connected with the kidnapping."
Kimberly was too startled at his conclusions to restrain her answer.
"Good Lord, no! I assure you that Mr. and Mrs. Wesley Marland would never dirty their well-manicured hands in something as nasty as kidnapping."
"So who are they?" he persisted gently. "Why do they want you to get in touch with them?" Kimberly decided it really wasn't worth the battle. Besides, she reasoned, it wouldn't do any harm to tell him the truth. "My
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