“What?” What had he called her? He had even pronounced it with a soft “a,” to rhyme with her real name.
“I noticed as soon as I came in. Very interesting.”
He motioned his head toward her work area, where garments in various stages of completion were spread out. He walked toward them and studied her current project, Mrs. Rutherford’s skirt. It sported a cluster of tiger lilies extending from the hem to the waistband on the left side. And there, crawling up one spotted petal, was her discreet cursive signature, “Ana R.” She and Barry had agreed on the backward spelling of her name as a trademark.
“My dear, it will add to the value of the garments if they’re signed. All original works of art must be signed,” Barry had said. Labeling them with “Rana” would have been like having a banner headline in the Houston Chronicle announcing where she was.
“I’ve been wondering what your first name is,” Trent said.
He had very good eyes to have spotted that name. Naturally, he assumed that the capital “r” stood for Ramsey. This nephew of Ruby’s was no cerebral slouch. Rana must be very careful. At least she had leased the apartment under that name as well, so there would be no discrepancy should he and Ruby start comparing notes.
When he turned to face her again, it took a tremendous amount of willpower on her part not to flinch. “It’s a very pretty name,” he said.
“Thank you.” Was he trying to see behind her glasses? His eyes seemed unusually perceptive and probing. They wandered toward her mouth again, and, as before, she felt light-headed. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Gamblin-”
“Call me Trent now. I intend to call you Ana. After all, we’re neighbors.” His smile was slanted, a little higher on the right side, and entirely too appealing. Or maybe his appeal was due to the way his hair fell boyishly over his forehead.
“As I was saying, Mr. Gamblin”-she stressed his last name-”I’m busy.”
“You know what they say about all work and no play.” He hitched his thumbs into the belt loops of his cutoffs. “I was thinking about taking in a matinee this afternoon. Why don’t you come along?”
Her mouth fell open. “I can’t go to-”
“Clint Eastwood. You think he’s sexy, don’t you?”
“Yes, he is, but I-”
“I’ll buy the popcorn.”
“No-”
“Double butter. I like it real buttery, don’t you?”
“Yes, but-”
“Do you mind if I lick my fingers?”
“No, I-”
“Good. If you say please, I’ll lick yours too.”
“Mr. Gamblin!” she cried in a desperate attempt to stop his flow of flirtatious chatter. She drew in a deep breath. “You may be idle and have the time to joke the day away, but I’m busy. Will you please leave?”
His smile collapsed, his easygoing posture became rigid, and his lips drew into a thin line of vexation. “Well, pardon me. I won’t keep you from your work a moment longer.” He stamped toward the door, and nearly tore it from its hinges when he opened it. “Thanks again for the Band- Aid,” he said over his shoulder before he slammed the door behind him.
“Uptight biddy,” he muttered as he made his way into his own apartment, which still looked as if a hurricane had been through it. “Prissy, prickly, prudish.” He slammed his door behind him, hoping the reverberation overturned one of her paint bottles. “Who needs you, lady?”
Just who did she think she was, ordering him around as if he were an ill-behaved child? No woman had ever had the gall to speak to him like that. He chose the time he left a woman’s company, not the other way around.
“Mr. Gamblin, Mr. Gamblin,” he repeated in a nasty, mocking voice.
Damn! As if the next few weeks of exile weren’t going to be punishment enough, he was living across the hall from a nun!
“Bet she nearly fainted when I mentioned licking her fingers. Bet she-”
That was it! he realized. She was a plain woman. There had been little or no excitement in her sorrowful existence, especially of a sexual nature. No doubt there was a giant void in the romance department of her life. In walked a man. “Reasonably good-looking,” he mumbled immodestly. She didn’t know how to act, so she was putting up barriers.
Sure. Why hadn’t he seen it before? She wouldn’t be so defensive if he left her cold, would she?
A gleam sparkled in his eyes as he formulated a plan that would tear down her defenses. It would be fun. It would be a challenge. It would be something to occupy his mind while he was here. He couldn’t study his playbook all the time.
He didn’t consider the real reason he wanted to pursue her. For just a moment, when her slight body had come in contact with his, he had responded with heat and hardness. Unthinkable as it was, he, the prince of singles bars and boudoirs, had been fully aroused by Miss Ana Ramsey.
Three
“I’m going to treat you ladies to a movie tonight.”
Trent made the announcement as Ruby was ladling raspberry sauce over the cheesecake. “A movie! You dear boy, what fun!”
“I thought it would be,” Trent said. “Clint Eastwood.”
“Oooh,” Ruby said. “He’s so sexy, he makes me shiver.”
“Better take an I.D. along, Auntie. It’s rated ‘R,’ and they might not let you in.”
“Oh, you!”
Trent leaned back in his chair and flashed his aunt a huge smile. But he kept a surreptitious eye on Ana Ramsey. Just as he’d expected, her cheeks were turning red with anger.
“Thank you just the same, Mr. Gamblin, but you’ll have to excuse me,” she said tightly.
“You’re not going?” Ruby asked, evidently aghast. “How could you turn down an invitation to go to a Clint Eastwood movie?”
“I have work to do. I didn’t get much accomplished today.” Rana shot Trent a fulminating look, which he missed, because he had devoted himself entirely to eating his cheesecake.
“But you never work in the evenings,” Ruby argued. “You told me that you didn’t have enough light to work at night.”
“Well, that’s true,” Rana said, “but tonight is an exception.”
“Aw come on, Ana, be a sport,” Trent drawled. “You’ll mess up my plans if you don’t come with us.” He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt, took out three theater tickets, and waved them at her. “I’ve already bought your ticket.”
“He’s already bought your ticket,” Ruby echoed.
“I’m sorry,” Rana said ungraciously. “He shouldn’t have taken that liberty until I had consented to go. He’ll just have to return it and get his money back.”
Trent squinted down at the small print on the ticket and read aloud, “No cash refunds.” He shrugged apologetically. “See? It says so right here.” He extended the ticket toward her. “No cash refunds.”
“No cash refunds, Miss Ramsey,” Ruby said plaintively. She was glad that Trent had been thoughtful enough to include Miss Ramsey in their evening. The younger woman had no friends, as far as Ruby knew, except for someone named Barry, who owned the store in Houston where she sold her things. Ruby could count on one hand the times Miss Ramsey had gone out for an evening. If anyone could stand a night at the movies, it was she.
Rana, unaware of Ruby’s musings, glared at Trent. He had put her on the spot deliberately. Well, she would turn the tables on him. “I thought you said you were going to a matinee.” Nonchalantly, he took a sip of coffee before answering her. “I changed my mind. Movies are more fun when they’re shared. Not to mention popcorn.” He winked to remind her of their earlier conversation about popcorn. Rana fumed.