“Good plan. One small exception.”
“What?”
“I need clothes. Seriously. Nothing fancy, but I just need some kind of generic store where I could pick up a few basics-specifically clothes that don’t smell like fish and rain.”
“No sweat.” He immediately right-turned, aimed a few blocks into a more commercial area. A man couldn’t have been married, much less twice, without knowing about women and clothes shopping, so…she was going to take forever. He really didn’t care. Actually, he figured he could swing into a shady spot and put his head back, catch a nap. Even a half hour would be better than none.
He pulled onto a commercial street with a half dozen decent shops, angled into a parking spot, then lifted up to pull out his wallet and a credit card.
She shot him a look that could have frozen fire. “Have I neglected to mention that I make damn good money and certainly don’t need yours?”
“But I said I’d pay for expenses. And you wouldn’t need these clothes if I didn’t push you into helping me.”
“Do not irritate me when I have jet lag, Connolly. Trust me. It’s a bad idea. It’s possible you’re right, because it sort of is an expense. But I don’t care. I buy my own clothes. That’s that.”
He wiped a hand over his face as she climbed out and clipped down the street, but then he just put his head back and closed his eyes with a grin. How-or why-a completely irrational woman should make him smile was impossible to analyze.
A second later-certainly no more-she was climbing back in the car with four packages. He blinked in shock. “You just left.” He glanced at his watch. “You haven’t even been fifteen minutes.”
“I easily fit in a size. And the first store was great, hit a sale. Home, Jerome.”
Abruptly, he remembered a few details. “It’s not actually home. It was my uncle’s place. I haven’t had time to sell it, or do much of anything for that matter. He died, I got here, and the whole crisis of the disappearing formula developed from there. So I-”
“So it’s dusty and messy. Got it, Harm. You’re talking to a woman who doesn’t claim anywhere as home. You don’t need to worry about stuff like that with me. Ever.”
“I’m not worried. I’m just trying to warn you what we’re getting into.” To himself, Harm admitted that he had an attachment to the place. Not that he wouldn’t sell it. Not that it didn’t need work to accommodate how he’d prefer to live. It was just…growing up, Dougal had been his favorite family person. He wasn’t just an uncle but a coconspirator, someone a cocky boy could talk to-about girls, about life, about building a windmill in the backyard, about sort of accidentally driving his mom’s car into the ditch a week after he got his license.
So. It wasn’t that the house was so much. It’s just that he wanted her to like it.
When they pulled up she looked it over, said “Really nice” in a tone that told him nothing at all, then started grabbing her packages and duffel. “Point me to a shower, okay?”
He unlocked, carried and then obediently pointed. “Wander anywhere you want. I’ll be in-” He pointed again, this time across a hall “-that shower. I’m going to make a few calls first, okay? Make yourself at home.”
He did have calls to make. The airlines, to make sure what times Arthur, Yale and Purdue were expected home-which was not for another day. After that, he called Fiske’s daughter, then checked answering-machine messages and left callbacks for the firm’s attorney and the P.I. firm. He didn’t expect responses-not on Friday night-but he still wanted the host of players involved in his uncle’s firm to be aware that he was home and needed further updating.
His firm, Harm kept telling himself. All of it was his problem now, not his uncle’s.
By the time he hung up, he realized he hadn’t heard a sound from Cate. The bathroom door was closed where he’d directed her-which was the spare bath, had clean towels and no guy-messes that he could remember.
He headed for his own shower, and before he’d gotten the first layer of travel grime off, he was trying to imagine the house through her eyes.
It was just a basic brownstone type. Grown-in neighborhood, all ages. The yard backed up to woods and a ravine, but it wasn’t fancy, looked more like a professor’s digs than a millionaire’s dream house. Practically every room had bookshelves. The main living area had big, fat furniture, either old leather or corduroy, with splashes of dark red and blues in the Oriental carpets. Three bedrooms, a dining room no one had ever used to eat in, a den that was piled to the ceiling. There were no doodads, but dust coming off the books scented the air.
By the time he’d toweled off, nicked his chin twice shaving, and climbed into pants, he figured she’d hate it…but he couldn’t wait any longer before finding her. He pulled on a white shirt, thinking about dinner, but was still buttoning it as he started the search.
It was still hot-the house had been closed up, obviously-and he’d put on AC when he called the restaurant, but it was going to take a while to get the place cooled down. He padded barefoot into the living room. A window seat in the bay windows looked onto the two giant maples in the front yard. A black squirrel was perched on the windowsill, as if he owned the place. It was the one room that had some coolness to it, he thought, but that wasn’t where he found Cate.
She was standing in the middle of the kitchen, wearing a short silk wrap, a hairbrush in her hand. It didn’t appear as if she’d used it yet. Her hair glistened, still damp from a shower, and was standing up in spiky enthusiasm. Typical of Cate, when she concentrated, she forgot everything else.
He edged up behind her, folded his arms. “What exactly are we looking at?” he asked.
She jumped when she realized he was there, then grinned. She motioned to where he saw an old box of a kitchen, a broom closet, a sturdy but well-scarred oak table. Last time someone had given the room attention, they’d gone for blue. It was definitely the most neglected room in the house, yet Cate’s face radiated animation and delight.
“I love a kitchen with an east view. That long sill is just a natural for growing herbs. The broom closet’s kind of a silly waste, but if you look at the space inside, it wouldn’t take much work to create a really convenient pantry. And the sink. I love a serious double sink. And that’s a great work counter. Personally, I think it needs better lighting, and obviously a paint job, but the guts of a terrific kitchen is already here. You can’t imagine how rare that is. I-”
She didn’t stop talking until he pulled her into his arms.
“What?” she asked, on the cusp of a laugh.
“You. Orgasmic over a kitchen. An old, beat-up, ugly kitchen.”
“It’s a little beat-up, but that isn’t the point-”
“I know.” Her excitement was the point. Which was why he had to kiss her. It had been aeons. She’d slept half in his arms on the flights, but there’d been no privacy for days, for exhausting, long hours. Being next to her was good. Very good.
But it wasn’t the same as finally getting his hands on her.
He didn’t know he’d been holding back and behaving himself until he tasted her lips again. That silky small mouth was as sassy as her personality, teasing and tasting and then settling in for a long, lingering savor. Her tongue got into it, then her teeth.