Nauti Temptress by Lora Leigh

tables already dressed with spotlessly white cloths and the colorful top cloths her mother used.
    “Did you put your order in yet?” she asked as she pushed through the swinging doors that led to the large chef’s-style kitchen.
    Dawg followed. She had really hoped he wouldn’t.
    “Mercedes has already taken care of it,” he told her, pausing just inside the door, obviously finally remembering Mercedes’s protests that only the cooks needed to be in the kitchen.
    Grabbing the small stack of orders the guests had put in the night before, chosen from the small, select list of choices they were given, Eve quickly clipped them to the magnetic order clips along the wide hood of the combination gas stove and grill.
    “I went to your room to talk to you,” he told her as she moved to the walk-in fridge on the other side of the room. “Where were you?”
    “I came in the front entrance,” she told him, stepping inside the cool confines of the shelved refrigerator and pulling together the items they would need to prepare breakfast.
    Returning to the kitchen, she was really hoping Dawg would be gone.
    He wasn’t.
    He was standing where she had left him, a frown on his face, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
    “Where’s Christa?” she asked as she emptied the large tray she’d used to carry everything on.
    “Home,” he answered shortly. “She and Janey are going shopping or something today. The girls are swearing they need shoes.” Bafflement crossed his face. “You’d think a closetful is enough.”
    The girls were only six, but already Erin and Laken were shoe connoisseurs and purse divas. Eve loved it. She especially loved how her brother and cousins just couldn’t seem to understand it.
    “So what did you need?” she finally dared to ask as she began preparing the homemade biscuits Mackay’s Bed-and-breakfast Inn was well-known for.
    Dawg shook his head. “I’ll try to catch you after breakfast. I just need to discuss something with you for a minute, and I know what breakfast is like here.”
    As he spoke, the door was pushed forward firmly, slapping him against his powerful biceps as Mercedes rushed into the kitchen.
    At thirty-eight, with four daughters and no gray hair or wrinkles, her mother looked ten years younger. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled back into a thick rope of a braid, revealing the high cheekbones and delicate features her daughters had inherited.
    Five feet, seven inches of energy, Mercedes could outwork all four of her daughters most days and still have the energy to go out dancing that night.
    Since coming to Somerset, her mother had bloomed. She was a social butterfly who loved meeting new people, learning where they’d come from and where they were going, and even laughing at their bad jokes.
    “Dawg Mackay, you are in the way,” Mercedes informed him brusquely as she continued walking quickly to the large pantry across from the refrigerator.
    Dawg pushed his fingers through his hair in frustration.
    “I’ll be in the living room,” he growled. “Maybe I can keep a door from smacking me there.”
    “Only if you don’t stand in front of it,” Mercedes informed him as she strode from the pantry, her arms full of white china plates and silverware. “Grab those tea lights from the counter and come help me,” she ordered him.
    Eve almost laughed at his expression of male disgruntlement, but he did as he was told. Not before he glanced back at her, though, his expression warning her that whatever he wanted to talk to her about, he wasn’t about to forget.
    Breakfast for the inn’s guests was usually something Eve enjoyed. She took pleasure in the preparation and in sharing the meal, and though cleaning up wasn’t a joy, it could be fun.
    Sitting down to breakfast a little after eight, at one of the busier tables after the guests had been served, she honestly thought she’d be safer. Instead, she found herself facing Brogan across the circular table as her