Starved For Love by Annie Nicholas

meal.”
    “Oh.” I scratched my chin. “Well, then, I’ll get ready.” Before exiting the room, I glanced back, mischief rising. “Would you like me to send my sister Rose in to keep you company?” I wasn’t going to tell her a thing. It would be a lot more fun to watch her find out on her own.
    He shook his head vigorously, a charming blush coloring his cheeks. “I doubt I would survive her.”
    Opening the study door, I ran into my father. “Dad!” How much had he heard?
    He pointed back to the study. “We haven’t finished our discussion.” His scowl foretold my grim future. What did I do now? Every time I thought I was doing the right thing it turned out wrong.
    Without another word, I scurried back in and hovered by the fireplace.
    Hoel finished setting his tie with shaky fingers, a dark blush coloring his face right to the tip of his ears. He cleared his throat.
    “My wives have informed me they agree with Pia’s decision.” My father crossed his arms over his chest; though not much taller than Hoel, he loomed over both of us. Not as head incubus of Lake City, but worse, as my daddy. “I don’t think it would be a good match. If I wanted Val to court her, she would have been introduced yesterday. Pia’s not on the market.”
    “But Da—”
    He shot me such an intense glare it burned. “We already discussed this today. This subject is closed. Please, extend my regret to your master and I look forward to seeing him at lunch tomorrow where I’m sure there will be more suitable succubi for him to meet.”

Chapter Six
    Woohoo! Back to day one of my cycle
    Kneadingbread kept idle hands busy and overactive minds calm, or so claimed my mother Margie. I punched the newly risen dough within an inch of its life and gave it a couple more for good measure.
    A long-fingered hand gently landed on mine. “I think it’s dead, honey. You can divide it into rolls now.” Margie’s soft voice still carried in the chaos of the kitchen. We were having lots of guests over for lunch in our greenhouse and my mothers always did the cooking. “Once you do that, you can set the tray by the others to rise. Don’t forget to cover them with a cloth.” She eyed me. “A clean one.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” I saluted her with a floury hand, a casualty of today’s baking battles.
    The kitchen was divided in three sectors. Margie and I were the baking department, Estelle and Rose worked on hors d’oeuvres, and Sam, my birth mom, and Adele made the main course. I say we helped but Adele was the only one of us daughters who could cook worth a damn. Rose was relegated to assembly only and I was set as a gopher and dough-kneading fool.
    “Check the oven and see if the cake is cooked.” Margie waved me away.
    “Yes, ma’am.” I did as I was told. How could I tell if it was done? It appeared golden and the scent of vanilla filled the kitchen when I opened the oven door. “It’s done?” I pulled it out and glanced at Margie.
    She sighed. “Stick a butter knife in it and see if it comes out clean.” Shaking her head, she poured more flour in her bowl. “How will we ever marry any of you off if you can’t make a simple cake?”
    “It’s the twenty-first century. I’ll go buy one at the store.” I set the cake by the rising bread.
    Margie gasped. “Pia Marie, take that back.” She winked at me. “Don’t leave the cake there. It will make the bread on that side of tray rise faster.”
    Rose met my gaze from across the room and rolled her eyes. Estelle nattered at her too. Something about what kind of crackers to use with oysters. We were serving those? I made mental note to steer clear of the hors d’oeuvres.
    I peered over at their table filled with trays of canapés. How many types of crackers could there be? I learned at a young age not to ask unless prepared to listen to the answer. My mind was too flighty to make any sense of the art of cooking.
    On top of everything else, my stomach wouldn’t stop