This past week while watching Anja work like a demon, Hagar had come to believe that future time had arrived. This was more than a 'working vacation,' as Anja had claimed over the telephone when she'd asked if she could borrow some lab space. If Hagar wasn't mistaken, this was the last throes of a desperate creative process.
All Hagar had to do was hang on until it was finished, then think of a way to elbow herself in for a piece of the action.
Now she did her best to calm her quiver of excitement. "Still," she told Anja. "You must take care of the body if the mind is to do its job." How close was Anja to finishing? Would she agree to take a break — so Hagar could look at her damned laptop? "You should take a day off, go for a swim," she urged.
Anja smile at her over the teacup. "Truthfully, finishing this project is the most relaxing thing I can do at the moment." She paused and a thoughtful look came over her face. "Although when I am done..."
Hagar began to smile. "A celebration might be in order." Indeed.
Anja smiled back, very wide. "I still remember that party you threw two years ago." She cleared her throat. "And the handsome island men who attended."
Grinning, Hagar felt her eyelashes lower. A party...when Anja might lower her guard once again.
And Hagar might be able to find out what was on that computer.
"I will see what I can do about organizing a party. Meanwhile, do you want any biscuits to go with your tea?"
Anja raised her brows. "You mean the shortbread biscuits that only you know how to make?"
Hagar laughed. "The very ones. There's a tin of them on my desk, but you'll have to go fetch them yourself. I brought the tea."
"Beast," Anja said, but laughed as she pushed back from the lab bench. "You know I'd swim to Antigua for those biscuits."
But then, even though she'd only be leaving the room to go on a journey of less than five minutes, that witch took her laptop with her!
Hagar gnashed her teeth and wasted about ten precious seconds cursing the Russian. Then her gaze fell on the petri dishes. She could take a swab...a sample. Was it not her right, as head of this lab? Was it not her right as somebody who had waited so long for her chance? It would be like...a tax, something Anja was paying Hagar in return for using her equipment.
Peering toward the laboratory door that Anja had left open, Hagar rose and moved quickly. Her fingers were sure, her touch efficient. She deserved this. With the skill of the righteous, then, she was back in her seat and sipping tea when Anja returned to the room with the tin of biscuits.
Hagar was only panting a little, through her nose and nothing Anja would notice, as she smiled very nicely at the world-class scientist.
~~~
On Wednesday night the women did watch one of Shana's videos, after all. For Olivia, this turned out to be a big mistake. She tossed and turned all that night, unable to rid her mind of the sound of gasping breaths or the images of hotly melded flesh. Or the thought of Gideon put together with those sounds and images.
Unfairly, perhaps, she blamed him for her discomfort.
After grumbling through the next day with a vague hangover and finding Gideon to blame for one minor mishap after another, Olivia decided to take Brittany's advice. It was time to make Gideon deal with her anger. In fact, she was going to make him deal with it that very evening.
Hence her situation at six-thirty on Thursday evening, with her car in the grass-grown driveway and herself striding up the slate stones that led to the ranch house. She was going to make Gideon deal with her anger, darn it. He was going to deal with it right then and there.
She had a key to the house, of course, but she knocked on the door. This wasn't about making herself at home. It was about confrontation. She wanted one.
He took his time answering the door, which built her irritation higher. Shouldn't he know who was there?
But of course he didn't. His expression of blank astonishment upon opening the door said he'd never dreamed she'd show up on her own doorstep.
"Olivia," he breathed. He was in the minor dishabille of evening, missing his tie and with his sleeves rolled up. The dark hair on his muscled forearms was visible. He looked...all man.
"Gideon," Olivia replied, and lifted her chin. There. Hadn't that come out just right, firm and a bit snotty?
"Uh... Would you like to come in?"
"Yes. I would." This, also, was uttered in a strong, powerful tone. She would be in charge today, whether he was all man, or not. She swept over the threshold, making him fall back in retreat.
Good.
Where the foyer transitioned from stone to carpet, she stopped. Turned. The house looked...off. The place was clean, but in a sterile sort of way, as if it hadn't been enjoyed.
But Olivia didn't pursue the thought. The surprised expression on Gideon's face was turning into something different as he followed her in. Olivia recognized in him the hunger she'd been fighting for the past twenty-four hours...for the past six months.
Very good. Yes. She could feel her anger build yet higher, the powerful stirring of her blood. This was all his fault.
"You are a pig," she announced, her head held high.
He seemed perfectly unaffected by the insult. Instead his eyebrows rose and his expression of hunger managed to intensify. "Excuse me?" he asked as his nostrils flared.
Olivia felt her own nostrils flare in response, battle ready. The blood was practically singing through her veins as she looked at him. He was hard and muscular, with the faint shadow of a beard on his jaw. "You are a pig to — to — try to confuse issues. That is, to introduce new issues, or resuscitate old issues when — when we still have these serious trust issues to — to — You know, to resolve." She glared.
He glared back, except it wasn't exactly a glare. More like a blaze. She could see his chest expand and a muscle jump in his jaw as he asked, "So, you wanta go to bed?"
She gasped. Her eyes widened to what she felt to be the size of saucers. Hadn't he heard? Was he paying no attention? She was here to show him how angry she was, to make him deal with it, dammit! And — and he had the nerve to stand there, in their own house, and ask her if she wanted to go to bed with him?!
"How can you ask that?" she breathed.
He took a step toward her, his eyes like black fire. "Well?" he wanted to know. "Do you?"
"I — Yes!" she said, and to her utter astonishment it came out in a tone that said he was an idiot not to have realized as much. The next instant she was crushed in his arms. She hardly knew how it had happened, nor cared. His mouth covered hers and his hands started rapidly peeling off her clothing. Olivia closed her eyes and moaned.
Five minutes later, flat on her back on the leather sofa in the living room and gasping in satisfaction, Olivia thought the whole thing just might have been better than one of Shana's videos.
Two hours later, with a scream of pure pleasure in her throat as she arched beneath Gideon on the feather mattress of their big bed, she was sure it had been better than any video in Shana's entire collection.
It was ten minutes after that, with the urgency of her needs finally fading and her brain in danger of catching up to her, that Olivia discovered it couldn't even compare to Shana's video collection. That was when Gideon rose up on one elbow to look down at her.
His eyes looked soft and full of love, but also concerned. "I know that wasn't the resolution you wanted, but we did need that."
She smiled. "I know." A flood of love crested inside her as she smoothed a hand over his slightly stubbled cheek. "You were right about the sex." She paused.
He said it for her. "But you want to know the answer to your question."
Olivia drew in a slow breath. Carefully, she nodded. "I do. Is there something going on with you? Was there six months ago?"
His clear, open gaze averted before coming back to hers. Then he looked straight into her eyes. "You have nothing to worry about, Olivia. My heart belongs to you. Only you."
For a moment, Olivia s
imply looked at him. She could see he couldn't tell she'd heard it, clear as day: the lie hidden within his truth.
Maybe it was the sex they'd just enjoyed, maybe it was the situation, all warm and close in their bed, but Olivia didn't get angry. She didn't even feel disappointed. There was something he felt he couldn't tell her, not because he was bad, not because he was deliberately withholding.
Because he was scared. She was suddenly, brilliantly, sure of it. He was terrified.
Olivia felt a smile grow over her face. A smile of love...a smile of supreme confidence.
Gideon thought he had to be afraid of her? He thought she didn't love him enough to accept whatever he felt he couldn't say?
She pulled him down for a long, sweet kiss. Inside, she was still smiling.
He'd think differently once she was through with him.
~~~
"Pe'er. 'S P'er!" cried Cam on Friday morning. He jumped up and down on the window seat as he looked out at the street.
"All right, all right, it's Peter," Brittany agreed and bent to scoop the boy up before he fell off the seat altogether. She looked out the window herself while she was there. Peter, the golden-haired painter, was getting out of the cab of his pickup truck. At the sight of him, she couldn't prevent a stirring of her own excitement, like a storm brewing. Like being infatuated. Which she was. There was no denying it.
Every day that Peter had come since the Tuesday when he'd helped her find Sean, she'd felt the same buzz of nerves, the same lift of excitement. For the first time in years she was experiencing female interest in a man.
She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Her uncertainty was why, after a smile and a wave in his direction every morning, she'd been keeping her distance.
Now, holding Cam, she watched through the sheer front curtains as Peter strolled to the back of his truck and hauled out his roller and paint brushes. Simply observing such a banal act was making Brittany's blood sing. Oh, she had it bad.
"Paint! Paint!" Cam shouted.
"Let's give him a minute to settle in," Brittany advised. Besides, she was having too much pleasure watching. His easy movements suggested muscles under that lithe build. Brittany hadn't been near muscles in a while. She heaved a mortified sigh. Oh, boy. She was starting to sound like Shana.
Peter took his equipment and disappeared down the side yard toward the back.
"Paint! Paint!" Cam demanded, and squirmed to be let down. Brittany had little choice but to release him. Cam immediately tore off toward the kitchen side door. Using both hands on the knob, he managed to wrench it open. Sighing, Brittany followed.
What to do about this infatuation of hers? Nothing, of course. Peter wasn't Blake, true, but he wasn't exactly Sir Galahad, either. It was obvious he was a heartbreaker, the kind of man who charmed his way in, and then charmed his way out again. He'd pretty much said so himself.
But that didn't stop the happy skip of her nerves when she followed Cam out the door. Peter turned and her eyes met his. His wide smile for Cam toned down to something less simple. "Uh, hi, Brittany." He cleared his throat.
"Hi, Peter."
"Paint! Paint!" shouted Cam.
Peter's attention dropped to the boy. Gratefully? Was he also wary of this attraction thing? "You go ahead and pick out a brush, bud. Oh, I see you already have." He laughed. "Gimme a second and I'll open a can of paint."
Cam held his brush in the air, his eyes trained on Peter.
"He doesn't seem to get tired of it," Brittany remarked, leaning on one hip and crossing her arms over her chest. Around now was when she usually waved and went back into the house, but something had her staying this morning. Something had her looking for a few more minutes with him.
"Of course he's not tired of it." Peter gave Cam a man-to-man nudge. "He's gotta finish the job, doesn't he?"
"Wif you," said Cam.
Brittany saw Peter blink. "Uh, yeah. That's exactly right, with me. The pro. So, here. Here's the paint. Try not to get any on your mom's rose bush."
"It's a gardenia," Brittany said.
"Oh. Well I bet it still doesn't want Benjamin Moore latex house paint on it. You stay right here, buddy, out of the way while I set up the ladder."
"I'll hold him, just to make sure," Brittany offered, and stepped forward. At the same moment Peter took a stride toward the ladder that was leaned against the back of the house. They would have collided if each hadn't thrown out their arms and caught the other.
"Hey," Brittany said.
"It's all right," Peter replied, though it wasn't nearly all right. His voice had gone hoarse and very deep. She felt a heavy shock all the way down to her toes. She was so close she could see the flecks of darker brown in the amber iris of his eyes. She could see the newly shaved roots of his beard. She could feel a faint trembling in the arms beneath her hands, a strange and fascinating contrast to the muscles that were tensed like steel. She supposed she was trembling, too.
It had been so long, so awfully long.
His lips thinned and she thought he was going to let her go but instead he pulled her closer, just the smallest, infinitesimal bit. Or maybe she leaned toward him, that same tiny bit. In any case, she saw his brown-gold lashes lower over his eyes right before his lips touched hers.
It was amazing how much sensation that short brush of the lips set off. Happy, fizzy sensation, sensation that almost made Brittany cling to him for more.
But they both pulled back. They both opened their eyes and looked at each other. The happy excitement turned to embarrassment and dismay.
"Ahem." Peter took a big step back.
Brittany did the same. Whoa, she thought.
His gaze flicked away from her, though not before she caught his expression. Petrified.
"Um, uh, the ladder," he said. Avoiding her eyes at all costs, he stepped carefully around her to heft it.
Brittany scrambled out of the way. "I, um. Be a good boy, Cam. See you later." Saying which, Brittany hustled down the side yard and into the house.
Once inside the door, she put both hands to her cheeks. Her face was burning. Oh, what had he done? What had she done? That kiss — Oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
CHAPTER NINE
Shana peered out the window of her car toward her neighbor's front yard as she pulled into her driveway on Friday afternoon. It had become a habit, checking to see if Dash was around. Not that Shana would have dared do anything other than sneak into her house through the garage door, regardless of whether she saw Dash outside or not. To make sure of avoiding him, she'd taken to collecting her mail late at night, stealing out of her house and back in again.
But now as she pulled into her driveway and parked the car in the garage, she wondered how much longer she was planning to act like a fugitive in her own house. She turned off the motor and glared out her windshield. She was sick of this, really sick of it.
It was all Dash's fault. So why was she the one skulking around like a criminal?
Shana pouted. She needed to have it out with him, exactly the way Olivia needed to have it out with Gideon. Shana had to make her problem Dash's.
Sucking in a big breath, Shana stepped out of the car. She grabbed her purse and, for the first time in three days marched boldly out the front of the garage. She strode across the lawn and straight to Dash's front door.
"This is his problem, not mine," she reminded herself in a mutter. She straightened her purse strap over her shoulder, leaned forward, and pushed his doorbell.
It didn't take him long to open the door. He'd probably seen her car drive up. When did the fellow go to work anyway that he always seemed to be around? Now he looked out at her, all six foot whatever of him. He wore a wary expression. Shana liked that. The big, gun-toting fella was wary of her. That was nice.
"Hello, Shana." His voice was deep and soft.
"Ahem. Dash." Objectively speaking, he was still adorably attractive, but Shana wasn't going to let that get in the way of what she had to do here. She
lifted her chin. "I want to talk to you."
His eyes lit. "Do you? Good. Why don't you come in?" He stepped back from the door.
Shana stepped back, too — in the opposite direction. "No. What I want to say can be said right here."
"Oh." He moved back into the doorway, his eyes shadowed behind his glasses. "Are you sure?"
"I am sure." Shana drew in a deep breath. "Dash, you have to stop doing this."
He seemed to hold his breath. "Stop doing what?"
"You know. The flowers, the poems, the books. You have to stop giving me things."
He sounded sorrowful. "I do?"
"Yes."
"But — didn't you like the book on Craftsmen furniture?"
Shana blinked several times in rapid succession. "Of course I liked the book on Craftsman furniture." In fact, she'd wondered how he'd guessed her interest in the subject. He couldn't possibly have noticed her own Craftsman coffee table. Men were not that observant. "It was a gorgeous book," Shana was honest enough to admit, "but — but that's beside the point."
"No." A smile curved Dash's lips. "As long as you liked it, that's all that's necessary."
"No, it is not." Shana almost stamped her foot. Had she ever met a man as exasperating? "You know it's not. You are trying to — to buy something, something that I'm not willing to give you."
He went very still. For a minute they simply stood there looking at each other. Dash's gaze went more and more...thoughtful. "What," he asked at last, his voice very soft, "do you think I want to buy?"
Shana's nostrils flared. The truth was...she wasn't sure. She'd never had a man go through so much rigmarole on her behalf. No man she'd wanted to sleep with ever had to go through this much rigmarole.
Of course she'd never decided against a man so completely.
"Maybe you're not sure," Dash went on. "Maybe I should tell you what I really want."
Shana lifted her eyebrows. "Think you're going to surprise me?"
"Maybe." One corner of his mouth smiled. "What I really want is to convince you I'm not a monster."
She was very proud of herself. She didn't lose one iota of her defiant stance. Though the truth was he had surprised her. "I don't think you're a monster."
Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way Page 11