man up close and personal gave me a whole new perspective on his villainy.
Could anyone this charming really be a contract killer?
“Yes, I witnessed it. Your head of security was pretty rough with her—” Matt began to gruffly respond.
But I quickly interrupted him. “No worries, Mr. Felloes. I’m the one who’s sorry for crashing your party, and in such a state.”
“Why you look perfectly charming, even sopping wet!” he declared. “A waif from the sea. An adorable little Venus.”
“Yes, well…” I stumbled, embarrassed. “I did see your ice sculpture on the way in. I think she had a few less shreds of clothing on than me.”
Bom laughed, his dark, intense eyes sparkling. “So you’re my neighbor?”
“Yes, I’m staying with David. Something, uh…came up and I crossed the beach to find him. It was dark, you know? And I, uh…I was stupid…I walked too close to the water. A high wave caught me by surprise.”
Bom frowned. “Well, it’s a shame you missed David. He left a little while ago. His restaurant manager, Jacques Papas, arrived late, but he agreed to cut short his fun and drive David home. Alas, David claimed he wasn’t feeling well.”
Bom paused and then chuckled. “I hope it wasn’t the company.”
“I’m sure he had a fine time,” I politely replied.
“And I’m sure you know…we’ve had our business rivalries in the past. But I invited David here to bury the hatchet, as you Americans say. So tell me, how do you know David? Are you two…”
He let the words trail off in implication. “We’re just friends,” I replied, quickly straightening out any misconceptions. “I’m his barista manager for the summer at Cuppa J. I’m overseeing the coffee service, managing the beans, putting together the dessert pairings, that sort of thing.”
Bom’s face lit up with boyish excitement. “So you are the ‘coffee steward’ everyone’s talking about! Such a delight to meet you. Why the Hamptons are simply abuzz about Cuppa J this season. I confess that one of the reasons I invited David here tonight was to wheedle an invitation to sample his dessert parings for myself.”
“Please do…I’d love to know what you think of what we’re doing.”
Matteo cleared his throat. “The car is here.”
“Oh, no!” Bom exclaimed. He closed the distance between us, took my hand, folded it into his. “Please stay. I’m simply captivated by your charm and obvious experience, all wrapped in such a delightful little package.”
Matteo was practically rolling his eyes. I ignored him.
“I’m sorry, but I really have to go. Matt’s giving me a ride,” I told Bom. “But you’re very kind.”
“On the contrary, I’m very selfish.” He glanced at Matteo. “But I understand if you must leave.”
“We must,” said Matt, grabbing my elbow again and steering me toward the door. I felt like yanking it free but didn’t want to cause a scene.
“Oh,” I cried, stopping short. “Your robe and slippers.”
“Keep them,” Bom said with a wave of his hand. “Or better yet, return them later…when we can both chat—” he shot a pointed glance at Matt, “—privately.”
I nodded. “Goodnight, Mr. Felloes—”
“Bom, Clare. Please call me Bom.”
“Goodnight then…Bom.”
I barely had the words out before Matt was hustling me through the mansion’s huge front doors. I softly sighed as we stepped outside. Bom Felloes was successful, handsome, very wealthy, and apparently interested in me. I was crazy for keeping him on my suspect list. But I fully intended to.
Although I was flattered by his flirtation, I knew he still had a motive for hurting David. And, in the end, I knew wealthy, overly polished, perfect men ten years younger than me had never been my type anyway. (Honestly.) The rumpled, earthy, ironic toughs of the world were more my speed, men who’d been knocked around by life, who were somewhat rough around the edges. Mike Quinn and his crow’s feet came to mind. Even Matt—before Breanne had gotten hold of him.
Outside the night had cooled even more. Landscape lighting had turned the mansion’s castle-esque exterior and flowering grounds around it into a glowing wonderland.
Matt opened the door to Breanne’s sleek silver Mercedes convertible now waiting at the bottom of the steps. I climbed in, sank into the fawn-colored custom leather, and faced The Sandcastle again.
Bom Felloes was standing there. He noticed my glance, smiled, and waved, looking as dashing and polished as a British lord.
I offered a tiny wave in return, not sure what I should be cursing more—his continued presence on my suspect list or my complete inability to reengineer my taste in