Malcolm and Ives 02 - Trouble With Air and Magic

by Patricia Rice

  “You sure about that?” Magnus glanced over his shoulder with concern. “You and the sister looked kind of tight.”

  “It was just one of those battlefield things,” Conan lied. “We both have lives to get back to.”

  Not that his life was anything to brag about, but Magnus was family. If Dorrie could put her family first, so could he. Sort of.

  He still had work to do. He returned to it, leaving big brother to sort out his own problems.

  Maybe if he never went to bed, he’d never notice Dorrie wasn’t in it.

  “You’re making a mistake, bro.” Magnus unexpectedly intruded on his reverie. “She’s worth chasing. Maybe Oswins are lousy at making families, but it looks like Oz found a woman who can show him how. I’m wagering yours knows, too.”

  Family, huh. What would he do with family? Conan studied his brother, but Magnus had returned to sipping beer and watching a ship on the horizon.

  Conan knew he wanted Dorrie. He didn’t know about family, but Magnus was right about one thing. Dorrie was worth chasing. But did she want to be caught by him?

  ***

  “You’re looking good, Papa.” Dorrie kissed her father’s cheek, aware that their employees surreptitiously watched the corner office from their cubicles.

  “You look just like your mother,” Ryan Franklin grumbled.

  She’d left her hair curled and tumbling around her shoulders and was wearing leggings and a sparkly t-shirt borrowed from Pippa. Most of her clothes were still at Conan’s, but she wouldn’t have dressed up even if she’d had them. She’d made a few decisions lately. Her suits were going to Goodwill.

  “Thank you, Papa,” she said with a smile. No more kowtowing for approval. “But Mom didn’t have curly hair and green eyes. Those are yours.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, but she knew he wanted something from her, so he couldn’t complain.

  “I talked to Bo last night,” he said. “He won’t tell me anything. What the Sam Hill happened? Is the information classified? Do I need to sue the government to find out?”

  “Not one of your better ideas,” she chided. “Bo knows how much he can tell us, and he’ll do so in his own time. It’s none of your business anyway. He’s a grown man now. We need to celebrate his return with a big family dinner. Did he tell you he’s not signing up again?”

  Her father rolled his chair restlessly behind the desk. “I’ll have the realty office find him a position. He should be good at that. Are you planning on coming back to work looking like that?”

  “Yep,” Dorrie said confidently. She would never have imagined this scene even a week ago. Maybe being shot and tumbling down a rabbit hole had taught her to roll with the punches or go for the gusto. Maybe Conan had taught her she didn’t have to please everyone. Whatever. She finally had the gumption to move on.

  “Pippa hired me to feng shui her new house,” she told him. “I’ll be living up there now. I think I can even afford the rent.”

  Until the next job, at least. She’d have to get used to living without a weekly paycheck. Freedom wasn’t precisely free. She’d have more time for her blog, though. Maybe she’d write a book. She had to give independence a try.

  And if the bad guys came after her again, she knew her resources were strong enough to handle them if she summoned her courage. She couldn’t continue living in fear.

  Her father frowned. “Who will be running the office while you’re out playing Tinkerbelle?”

  “Wrong story,” she said cheerfully. “I’m following the yellow brick road to Oz. Now that you’re back, you can run the office.”

  “I’m retired!”

  “You don’t want to be retired,” she corrected. And she knew she was right. Now that Zimmer’s hostile vibrations had been removed, she could sift through the office energy to identify her father’s. His chi was much stronger and healthier at the office. “And you need to fix anything your friend fouled up.”

  The mention of Zimmer had him frowning more. “I can’t get out and about like I used to,” he griped, pulling out the pity card. “This business is about meeting people, shaking hands. I can’t do that anymore. And I can’t play with computers either. I’m outdated.”

  Dorrie kissed his cheek again. “Silly. You only need to pick up a phone and chat with a few people and donations pour in. I can’t do that. And you have Tillie and a whole office full of people to run computers. You need to look at financial statements and make decisions, too. I can’t do that.”

  “What can you do?” he asked petulantly. “Someone has to run the place after I’m gone.”

  “You’re not going anywhere soon. You have plenty of time to train someone. Bo, if he wants it. Or Amy. Tell you what.” She lifted a stack of file folders from the desk. “I’ll come in once a week and review the tough cases, do interviews, and decide on clients. How’s that?”

  He didn’t look appeased, but he didn’t argue either. That counted as a win in Dorrie’s book.

  “You think Bo will want to work here?” he asked warily.

  “Nope,” Dorrie said with cheer. “But Amy works in human resources. Her kids are your grandkids. She might work out.”

  And with a little luck and communication, maybe Bo and Amy would get back together again. They’d had time to learn from their mistakes.

  If only she could be so positive about her own future. It wasn’t as if she and Conan had anything in common except she understood the damned man better than anyone else on earth.

  He probably wouldn’t appreciate that sentiment. Or any sentiment at all.

  Chapter 33

  Conan cursed at the email on his screen rejecting his bid on the government contract. He knew damned well that he was the best man for the job, but they’d taken the bid of some punk fresh out of school just to save a few dollars.

  He didn’t think the incident in the Mojave had had any effect on the contract decision. Magnus and Bo had made their reports, keeping him out of them. Besides, he hadn’t had to cross the line or blow up anything. He’d pretty much stayed within the rules for a change, unless they’d caught him hacking through their files.

  It was just the luck of the draw. He wasn’t used to a bad hand.

  Now what the hell would he do? He had a house to pay for, and he’d just told Magnus he could live in it rent free. They had a mad general and his sons to catch. How could he drum up a million-dollar contract out of nowhere so he could eat while chasing a criminal for no reward? He clenched his fingers and refrained from flinging a keyboard through a window.

  He heard the garage door open below. Conan had been attuned to that sound for hours. Magnus was at the base and didn’t have a garage door opener.

  The instant he heard the door creak, he forgot about the damned contract.

  That was Dorrie down there.

  Would she come upstairs? He wanted her to. He had painstakingly rehearsed exactly what he’d say. But maybe he’d better not take chances on letting her think she could slip in and out unnoticed. He’d learned that women didn’t like being ignored. He’d damned well chase her if he had to.

  Not admitting his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, Conan jogged downstairs. If he was any good at pretending, he’d pretend to be surprised when he saw her. But he was lousy at faking it.

  Despite his anticipation, once he got downstairs, he was knocked broadside by her appearance. He’d thought she’d be at the office today. “Looking good,” he told her.

  Gone was the power suit and hair knot. Even though she still concealed every curve in a too-big shirt, he knew what the package hid, and desire and need coiled his insides. The emerald green sparkly shirt falling half way to her knees had to be Pippa’s, but the riotous curls and brilliant smile were all Dorrie’s. She was smiling and not flinging slushies. Or even hiding behind her inscrutable expression, and his heart did a back flip.

  “You’re not looking so hot,” she told him facetiously, packing her tea set in bubble wrap. “You could use a goo
d shave. I’m amazed you heard me come in. It doesn’t look as if you slept all night.”

  He rubbed his bristled jaw. “Probably didn’t,” he agreed. Hadn’t showered and probably hadn’t eaten. “I’m running behind and had a lot to clear up.”

  “You need to hire some help or you’ll burn out,” she admonished.

  Talking about his lack of sleep was not how he’d pictured this conversation. In his experience, women either fell into his arms because they wanted something, or they packed up and left. She was packing and leaving.

  He hadn’t really minded when the others left. Dorrie was ripping out his guts. He had to figure out how to break the pattern, stop her from going.

  What came out of his mouth instead was, “Can’t hire anyone. Lost the government bid. Want to come up and rearrange my career sector?”

  The minute the words were out of his mouth, Conan wanted to slam his head through the wall. He hadn’t meant it to sound like he wanted to hire her. He’d planned on asking her to help him rearrange his living space, then somehow walk her into his bed. But now she was looking at him as if he were fried mud.

  Her expression miraculously cleared, and she granted him another of her beatific smiles. Wow, two within the space of a few minutes. Maybe the frost was melting.

  “Your chi is all over the place today. You won’t mind if I move your things around?”

  He’d get down and crawl in gratitude if that would give him another chance.

  He just said, “Sure, knock yourself out.”

  Dorrie looked at him thoughtfully, finished tucking her china into the box, then nodded. “I think I’ve already knocked myself out a couple of times lately. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not.”

  Was she saying no? Did he have to go all Neanderthal and carry her upstairs? Not a half bad idea except she could probably blow him backward with her whammy. Maybe this was her idea of humor.

  Before he could go into panic mode, she started up the stairs of her own accord. He almost came undone just watching her hips sway in his face. She wasn’t leaving? He had a chance?

  “You smell good,” he said, striving for flattery that wouldn’t have her flinging him down the stairs. He couldn’t say You smell more beautiful than roses and I need you in my arms right now. Those kind of words stuck like peanut butter to his tongue, but he’d figure out how to say pretty phrases if she needed them.

  “Ylang-ylang,” she said, inexplicably.

  “Eelang?” he asked. “Some kind of perfume?”

  “The essential oil that’s the base of this perfume, yes.” She stopped when she reached the top. “You moved your computer around,” she said disapprovingly.

  Okay, here’s where communication got tricky. With his brothers, he could ignore the complaint or throw punches. He usually chose to ignore them. Dorrie had made it plain she wasn’t like his brothers. She needed words. Conan took a deep breath and attempted explaining. “I like looking out the window and hate glare on the screen.” He crossed his arms and waited for retaliation.

  She eyed his defiant stance and challenged him with a delicately raised eyebrow. “That’s easy, if you don’t mind moving the desk. I wasn’t certain how you’d feel about that.”

  He’d prepared for a fight. Caught off guard by her capitulation, he almost staggered. “Just call me your beast of burden,” he said warily. This communication stuff wasn’t half bad, if he could remember to do it.

  “I don’t have my compass or measuring sticks, but most of this room is your career sector, and your desk would work right there,” she told him as she pointed at the far right corner, indicating the necessary desk placement. “You need to welcome chi into the house and through this room. If you want your desk to face the windows, it must also face your entrance, which places the desk in your relationship corner.”

  Conan’s first reaction was doubt, but he stifled it at the mention of relationship. He was smart. He could learn. “Desks are good for relationships?”

  “Not desks, per se, no.” While he shoved his desk backward, she arranged all his red folders with his genealogy material on the shelf behind the desk, then began cutting up an empty red folder. “Positive thinking is good for relationships. Thinking about relationships is good for them. Keeping them in your mind while you work is very helpful. That warms and builds the chi energy.”

  With a few quick twists and cuts she created a 3-D Valentine heart that she threaded with a rubber band and hung from his desk light, so it would be in his face all the time.

  Thinking maybe he got it, Conan dug through a drawer and produced some of the family photos Oz had sent him. “So I put things like these in the family area?”

  Pleased, she took the stack and shuffled through them. “Yes, excellent! But if you’re worried about that government contract, we need to focus on your career, reputation, and money. This whole back wall is important to those. You need objects that symbolize money over in the other corner. And maybe your degrees and awards and so forth here in the middle. As I said, career is your entrance, and you have a big hole there with the stairs. So you need to welcome the chi flowing up those stairs.”

  That eelang stuff was making him crazy. He was more interested in getting Dorrie into the bedroom where he could see if she smelled like that all over, but he didn’t want to be too blatant about it. Feng shui was important to her, so he figured he needed to understand.

  Conan made her draw up a chart so he could visualize what she was telling him, and leaned over her shoulder while she was drawing it just so he could breathe in her exotic scent. And watch her breasts move beneath that shirt.

  Once he had the design in hand, he could see that his bedroom was in the love and relationship corner of the house. Oh yeah, that would do it.

  ***

  Dorrie took a deep breath when Conan grabbed her chart and wandered off down the hall. Her heart was pounding so hard that she feared he could hear it.

  His chi was maddening. It raced back and forth so fast that she had no chance of telling if his interest was in her or the bagua or his career or a bug on the rug. Or all of the above. Conan was a complex, frustrating man, and his inability to communicate was a wall she wanted to knock down.

  That he was really trying to have a conversation had her hormones humming—and her hopes rising. He’d actually invited her upstairs. And he’d set aside his work to listen to her. And he was listening, not just humoring her. He was definitely trying.

  She knew almost as little about making relationships as he did, so she was kind of flustered. She could handle family, but the sex thing… She was just learning sexual communication. But maybe if she could reach him through sex… Could it lead to more? She wanted it to lead to more. A man who had saved her life was worth exploring.

  She knew he had an excellent sense of smell. She’d worn the seductive perfume in hopes of stimulating it. If she’d only had time to learn what else turned him on…

  She couldn’t picture cottages with morning glories climbing to the roof just yet, but she wanted to see if the way their chi synchronized meant what she hoped. She knew how she felt every time she looked at Conan, thought about him, remembered how his arms felt around her… It was damned scary, that’s what it was. But she didn’t intend to live in fear anymore.

  She wanted to live, and he was her secret to living. And loving, she hoped.

  He was making a lot of noise moving things around. He hadn’t invited her to help. So she checked his refrigerator for food and set about making brunch. If she surmised correctly by the lack of dirty dishes, he hadn’t eaten today.

  Conan emerged from the unseen back rooms when the odor of coffee and bacon filtered back to him. She could swear the hunger in his gaze was for her and not the platter of eggs, but he politely set the platter on his miniscule glass breakfast table and poured coffee.

  “You didn’t have to cook for me,” he said warily, “but thank you. Shouldn’t you be in the office? Do you have a place to take your stuff ye
t?”

  He’d shaved while he was in the back room. She almost curled up in pure delight at the earthy scent when she leaned over his shoulder to put toast on his plate. She wanted to kiss the spot of shaving cream behind his ear, but she wasn’t daring enough. Yet. She needed encouragement to develop that kind of confidence.

  “Apparently Oz’s new house is almost done enough that Pippa’s mother can move in. It’s easier for her to walk to town from there, so she’s renting the cottage to me. I’ll be helping Pippa decorate and just coming in to the foundation office once a week.”

  There it was, she was laying it on the line. She desperately wanted her own home and her own business. But she wanted Conan, too. And he was in the city.

  “Yeah, you looked right in that cottage,” he agreed. “No cliffs. I like that.”

  She lightly cuffed the back of his head and nibbled the toast she’d fixed for herself. “I usually don’t go out on cliffs, but there are plenty to be found if I’m so inclined.”

  After inhaling his eggs, Conan leaned back in his chair to sip his coffee and watch her with what she’d swear was admiration in his eyes. “I like a woman who can stand on her own.”

  She wasn’t sure how to take that. She’d been on her own for a long time. She rather thought she’d like to share company now. “I’d like a man who can stand beside me,” she countered dryly.

  A grin lit his eyes as he lifted his cup in toast. “I’ll drink to that. Come see if I’ve got this fang shoeey thing right.”

  She narrowed her eyes at his deliberate mispronunciation, but he set down his cup and dragged her up from the table and down the hall, and she went. Her curiosity was as bad as his. She raised her eyebrows at a bowl of cactus discarded on the floor at the far end of the hall. He really did have cactus in his relationship corner? Had. He’d kicked it out.

  Conan opened the door on his love and relationship sector—his bedroom. Before Dorrie could peek over his shoulder, he grabbed her by the waist, lifted her off the floor, and flung her into the center of red satin sheets.