by Alison Kent
“Two weeks. A month at the outside.”
Two weeks she could handle. A month might be tougher. Maybe she could light a fire under Anton to get the condo finished ASAP. Or get Lauren to do the lighting, since she was responsible for leaving Macy in this roommate lurch.
On the other hand, she was stupid for even considering this madness. Especially when Leo didn’t even have the humility to beg with a poor-pitiful-me puppy-dog look, but instead met her gaze directly with a triumphant expression.
She lifted her chin and met his challenge. “If we do this, don’t even think I’m going to let my guard down for a minute. I will not pay for your groceries. I will not do your laundry, clean your toilet or wash the dishes you use. And you won’t be gaining any scavenger hunt advantage because of our proximity.”
“Face it, Macy. I’m going to win this scavenger hunt of yours whether we’re living together or not.” And then, as if he had every right, he left his line, moved into hers and added his entire collection of purchases, melons and all, to her cart.
“Correction.” She would make this one thing perfectly clear because, the way her pulse was racing, her heart thudding a heavy beat from the hollow of her throat to her toes, she needed the reminder herself. “We’ll be living under the same roof. That’s not the same as living together.”
He shrugged. “Semantics.”
“As long as we’re on the same page here, then—” she couldn’t believe she was saying this, knowing full well he’d use those semantics to his advantage “—give me your money.” She held out her hand. “I’ll check out. You go pack up your stuff and meet me back at the loft.”
LEO WASN’T SURE he’d ever hit such a stroke of good fortune in his life. Capitalizing on it had proved to be tougher than he ever would’ve thought—at least before last week. He was learning fast that every inch gained with Macy, whether measured in physical or mental terms, was hard won.
But oh, was every inch sweet!
Not many people went toe-to-toe with Leo Redding and enjoyed, as he did, the feints and jabs, the thrill of the fight, the battle to go one better than his opponent. Certainly no woman had ever sparred so adeptly, so directly, as Macy had.
He’d yet to work out how this thing with her was going to go down. He kept insisting the attraction was all about the game, about a woman who had a competitive streak and cutthroat spirit he’d never found in another player.
But the piercings, the tattoo, the unconventional hair style, the wardrobe right out of a high-school classroom…it was all a bit much to deal with. She was a strange composite: everything he wanted in a woman and everything he avoided at the same time.
He wondered what her issue was about growing up, how long she’d continue to flaunt convention with the unorthodox way she dealt with the world around her. He could see her a year or two from now, taking off on a quest to “find” herself. His Bohemian, avant-garde mother all over again.
So, what in the hell was the appeal? Was he seriously looking beyond the exterior trappings and her obvious Peter Pan syndrome? Looking deeper, and seeing his own ambitious nature in a package meant to complete?
How Jerry Maguire was that?
Leo chuckled to himself, swung his garment bag over his shoulder and reached into the back seat of his Lexus for the duffel and overnight case that contained most of the belongings he’d need until he could move the rest of his things from storage into his new place.
His new place. It had been quite awhile since he’d been this excited about a change. Not that he’d necessarily been suffocating. He just hadn’t been in a mental place where he’d felt jazzed about much of anything.
Moving into the city was a personal victory of sorts. He’d established himself, had worked hard enough to afford the better things in life without a second thought as to how finances would effect his future. It was an incredibly intoxicating freedom, and he knew he’d made his father proud.
But his caseload of late was routine. The social functions he’d attended recently had failed to hold his attention. As had the women whose company he’d been keeping. A shake-up was definitely in order. And maybe Macy Webb was about to give him what he wanted.
The gate on the loft elevator closed and he began his ascent. For once, he wasn’t going to analyze. This time with Macy was something of a vacation. He was going to enjoy her scavenger hunt the same way he would enjoy sailing the deep gulf waters this summer.
And then, when he was baking in the sun and the solitude, he’d give more thought as to why this woman appealed to him at such a visceral, soul-searching level. And what exactly he was going to do about it.
The elevator ground to a stop; the gate groaned and creaked open. Leo half expected to find Macy in a warrior woman stance, wearing golden Valkyrie armor with longbow and six-foot spear at the ready.
Instead, the loft was quiet, the track lighting brightening the hardwood floor immediately in front of the elevator, but casting the rest of the main room into shadows. He walked inside, dropped his three bags onto the yellow-and-red plaid armchair.
He knew from Anton’s description of the loft’s layout that Lauren’s rooms were to the right, behind the entertainment center. Macy’s rooms were the other direction, isolated from the rest of the loft by the design of the kitchen. He heard a quick blast of water and the whir of the garbage disposal off to his left. He headed that way.
Macy was still dressed as she had been earlier, at the market. On her feet she wore black sneakers with the thickest wedge sole he’d ever seen on an athletic shoe. Obviously sports had nothing to do with the design.
She wore no socks, and her denim pants reached an inch or two below her knees. They were a bright red, and her top was a form-fitting cropped number in black cotton covered with red polka dots.
He took it back; she didn’t dress like a teen, but more like a kindergartener. She would’ve looked like a kindergartener, too, except for the obvious fact that today she wore one of her push-up bras. Strangely, his heart and his mood both lightened. He’d bet on the plain white bra. It fit her ingenuous look.
She finished scooping the pulp from the honeydew she’d filched from his groceries, and took an attack cleaver to the watermelon half she’d bought. Leo enjoyed a private smile as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The wild child was nothing if not dramatic.
He stayed on the breakfast nook side of the open serving counter, away from the sink and the cutting board and the bits of flying fruit. “So, we both pay for our own groceries, but all food is fair game?”
She wielded the cleaver like a professional chef. “What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is also mine.”
He felt the corner of his mouth crook upward. “I thought that was how this was going to work.”
“I had faith that, being the smart lawyerly type, you’d figure it out.”
“Do we need to talk about it?”
“About what?” She hacked the melon into pieces. “The fact that I’ve obviously lost my mind?”
She mumbled the question, so he wasn’t sure if she really wanted an answer. That he was going to give her one wasn’t even in question. “Sure. We can talk about your mental health. Or about how you want to handle expenses while I’m here.”
“There won’t be any expenses. I’ve changed my mind. You can’t stay.”
“Too late. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.” When she looked at him askance, cleaver in hand, he added, “You’ve taken possession of my melon. I’ve taken possession of Lauren’s bedroom. It’s too late for either of us to back out.”
“Humph. Melon possession. What kind of law is that?”
“Leo’s law.”
She stopped and considered his answer, then demanded, “What’s the difference between a lawyer and a catfish?”
“One’s a bottom dwelling scum sucker. The other’s a fish.”
Thwap! Bright red melon juice splattered the sink’s splash guard. “I’ll find one you haven’t heard one of t
hese days.”
“I doubt it. I’ve been around awhile.”
“You’ve been around? Or you get around?”
“Is there really much of a difference?”
“Depends on who’s asking, I suppose.”
“You’re asking. What exactly do you want to know? I’ll give you this one for the scavenger hunt.”
She whacked the point of the cleaver into the plastic cutting board. “What do I want to know?” she finally asked, and he realized he’d been staring too long at the hand she’d had wrapped firmly around the cleaver’s handle. He glanced up into her face and nodded.
“Family, genus, species and name of your first pet.”
Back to the scavenger hunt. “Canine. Dog. Irish setter. Bandit.”
“A boy’s pet.” Her surprise was evident.
And surprisingly annoying. “I was a boy.”
“Are you sure? You look like you’ve been grown-up for a very long time.”
Leo glanced down at his white oxford shirt, his navy slacks and his belt and shoes of faux black alligator. He shrugged. “I’ve looked like this for about ten years now.”
“That’s not what I mean. You look…you act like you were born wearing Hugo Boss instead of a birthday suit.”
Now there was an image to make him smile. If he were given to smiling. Which he wasn’t. Usually.
Uh-oh.
Sobering, he propped a hip against the counter while she carefully cubed the honeydew and scooped balls from the meat of the watermelon. Fruit salad for dinner, he presumed. No need to help, since she seemed to have it under control.
He settled more comfortably, the better to watch her brow furrow in concentration, her dainty white teeth worry that plump lower lip. She radiated energy and purpose, and a childlike deliberation he found enchanting.
He blinked. Uh-oh.
Leo Redding enchanted? If that wasn’t clue number one that he was in some kind of trouble here, he didn’t know if he’d recognize clue number two. But he did. The word childlike only compounded the mess.
Macy spooned the melon pieces into a big ceramic bowl, went to the fridge for red grapes and grapefruit. “How long did you have Bandit?”
Yep. Trouble. Nosey-woman trouble. “Not long enough.”
She looked up over the top of the refrigerator door. “What happened to him?”
“Long story.”
The door slammed. “You in a rush to get somewhere?”
Only out of this suddenly too intimate conversation, this too cozy domestic scene. He straightened and made a show of stretching. “I wouldn’t mind a hot shower before dinner. Do I have time?”
A tiny fist went to her tiny hip. “Counselor, are you evading my question? May I remind you that you’re under oath to tell the whole truth?”
Now she was using his profession to her advantage. What next, he thought, and reached across the counter, filched a chunk of melon and lobbed it into his mouth. “My mother took off to find herself when I was thirteen. Took Bandit along for the ride. He loved taking road trips, sitting in what he considered his seat, with the window wide-open.”
Leo had loved road trips, too, but she’d chosen to invite his dog instead. Old news. Old pain. Long since dead, buried and forgotten.
Macy’s gaze sharpened, a steel shovel of focus. Damned if it didn’t seem to pierce straight through to the coffin lid. Those eyes…those intelligent, perceptive, Jack Daniel’s gold eyes were dangerous.
She was a piece of work, this one. Complicated as hell. Whatever time he spent here, two weeks, a month, was going to be wild.
“Leo?”
“Hmm?”
She plucked grapes from the bunch and dropped them into a colander for washing. “You need a dog. Once you get settled in your new place you definitely need a dog.”
More of her pop psychology. “I don’t have time for a dog.”
“If you had a dog, you’d make the time.” She finished with the grapes, reached for a plump ruby red. “You really do need to make the time.”
That was certainly backing into a solution. “You don’t say.”
“I do say, even if no one else will. Learning how to relax is your biggest challenge. I don’t think you’re genetically uptight. You’ve just forgotten to nourish your inner boy child.” She seemed awfully pleased with herself.
“Really.”
“Absolutely. I knew there had to be a reason you’re always such a stick-in-the-mud,” she said, scoring the grapefruit rind and peeling back the skin in even quarters.
“I’m a stick-in-the-mud because my mother took my dog?”
Not because his mother had taken away anything resembling a childhood, leaving him to be raised by a father who never admitted to failure, never allowed his son to fail.
No. Macy had narrowed down his psyche to the loss of one dog. So much for dangerous.
She shrugged. “It’s not all about losing Bandit. I mean, you lost your mom! At thirteen, that’s as good as saying goodbye to your childhood. And what about your father’s reaction? I’d guess he expected you to be perfect, considering how much you hate to fail.”
Leo stared, then finally managed to answer, “Thank you, Dr. Webb.”
Macy screwed up her face. “I know. It’s one of the hazards of the degree. And it’s already cost me one roommate.”
“Lauren moved out because you told her she needed a dog?”
“Hmm.” She sectioned the grapefruit, cut each wedge into four pieces. “Maybe I should have tried a dog instead of the scavenger hunt.”
“You know, Macy,” Leo began, circling the end of the counter into the kitchen proper. “Your mind works in mysterious ways that I’m not even sure I want to understand.”
“You mean, you find me an, oh, I don’t know.” She faced him head-on. “A challenge?”
He remembered the morning he’d thrown the insult into her face. He’d been wrong when he’d thought she wasn’t an enigma. That still didn’t make her his type, even if he could appreciate the puzzle of her mind.
He nodded a silent touché. “Out of the ordinary, at least.”
“You won’t admit to finding me a challenge. Only that I’m strange.” She added the rest of the fruit to the bowl and washed her hands of the sticky juice and of the conversation. “Much more of this sweet talk and you’ll be wearing your melons.”
I’d rather be wearing yours. Leo blinked, surprised by the renegade thought. And then he smiled. Again. He couldn’t help it, though he tried his damnedest before giving it up.
Wild wouldn’t even begin to describe these next few weeks. He lightly cleared his throat. “So. Back to the house rules?”
She nodded. “If I make dinner for one, I’ll make it for two. As long as you’re home. If you’re not, you’re on your own. If I’m not in the mood to cook, you’re on your own. Basically, when it comes to food—”
“I’m on my own. Got it. And consider the reverse to be true, as well. If I cook for myself, I’ll cook for you.”
“Okay.” She held up one warning finger. “But don’t touch my laundry.”
“Don’t do your laundry or don’t touch your laundry?” he asked, this time going for the grapefruit, giving her a second to ponder his question as he chewed. “Because last time I was here you had different rules about touching your laundry. I just want to get things straight.”
“Grr.” She tossed the cleaver and the cutting board into the sink, grabbed a bag of potato chips and a package of Oreos and stomped from the room.
Grinning to himself, Leo served up a bowl of fruit salad, pulled a rib-eye from the freezer and set the microwave to thaw. He found fresh garlic and butter and an indoor grill.
Maybe intimate and domestic wasn’t so terrible. Maybe he’d worried over nothing. So, she was perceptive. So, she was too damned attractive for his peace of mind.
So far Macy’s house rules suited him just fine.
7
ANTON NEVILLE LEANED against the railing that ran alo
ng the second floor landing of the home he’d made in an abandoned warehouse. To the average observer, the place gave no hint to the aesthetics hidden in the framework, the oddly slanted roof sections, the placement of windows.
Anton’s gift was being able to see with more than the naked eye. The way Beethoven looked at a piano’s ivories, the way Michelangelo looked at a block of marble. This was how Anton’s mind worked. He looked at buildings long since left to decline and visualized the possibilities.
Which was why, now, looking down at Lauren, who sat working at the computer station he’d added to their home office, a sense of dissatisfaction chewed at the contentment he’d lived with since she’d moved in.
She had amazing potential, a potential that guaranteed more career possibilities than he knew she’d imagined. gIRL-gEAR was a fantastic launch to her multimedia career, but she was still thinking inside a smaller graphic design box than her position gave her boundaries to explore.
Lauren insisted the artwork she created for the company’s Web site fit the image Sydney and the others agreed best conveyed gIRL-gEAR’s upbeat and energetic attitude.
But Anton couldn’t help thinking that Lauren was stifling her creativity, stunting her artistic growth in a way she wouldn’t be if she were to expand her graphic portfolio.
“Are you going to stand up there and stare at me for the rest of your life? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
“I don’t know. Sounded like a complaint to me.” Anton made his way to the central staircase, descended leisurely. He kept his hand on the polished aluminum railing, his eyes on Lauren.
“Then I guess I need to make my meaning a bit clearer, don’t I?” She swiveled in her chair and crooked a finger his direction.
Anton gave in to the smile that tugged at the edge of his mouth. Since the day he’d stepped from his car and found Lauren waiting to tour the loft in which she and Macy had lived, he’d fought what felt like an unhealthy obsession.
He had her under his roof now. The obsession should have eased. The fact that it hadn’t said a lot about the way he’d let her get under his skin. He had plans for the long term and he wanted to include Lauren.