by Kylie Brant
Kathleen said, “It’s a new twist on the old-fashioned custom of the men retiring to the parlor after a meal for a smoke. In this house, we allow them to do their male bonding over a sinkful of dirty pans.”
“While the women smoke cigars in the parlor,” Sean said.
“I dry,” Cruz said.
“No way. It’s your turn to wash, buddy.”
“You’re crazy. I washed last week.”
The women left the men to their bickering and went to the living room. Madeline had no more than sat down when she was approached by Cruz’s oldest niece-Robin, she thought her name was. The girl eyed her soberly.
Madeline smiled tentatively. She’d had little contact with children, except, on rare occasions, during a case.
Robin spoke. “Do you want to see my Barbie dolls? I brought them with me today.”
Disarmed, Madeline nodded. “I’d love to, Robin.” The girl took her by the hand, called for her aunt Maureen to follow them, and led the two upstairs.
It was well over an hour later when Madeline returned to the living room. Cruz was sprawled on the floor, with two little ones using him for a sofa. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he motioned her over. “Where have you been?”
She sank gracefully next to him, tucking her legs beneath her. “Admiring Robin’s Barbie collection. My, those dolls sure live in the fast lane.”
His eyes left hers and looked at Robin, who was climbing up on her father’s lap. “Did you have fun playing Barbies, honey?”
The little girl bobbed her head vehemently. “Uh-huh! I learned lots of neat stuff. Maureen taught me how to braid Barbie’s hair, and Madeline showed me how to make Barbie’s skirts longer.” She added solemnly, “’Cause they’re really too short to get respect.”
Stunned silence in the room was followed by gales of laughter. Cruz noted the quick flush that rose to Madeline’s cheeks. He teased, “Well, if anyone can teach you how to get respect, it’s this lady.” In an undertone he asked, “Bet you didn’t find any primly tailored jackets and pants in the wardrobe, did you?”
“Not a one,” she answered wryly. “Most of the outfits were suitable for roller-blading and beauty pageants. Reality doesn’t play a very big part in Barbie’s life. And if that was a slam about my wardrobe,” she added, “watch it. Or I just may have to comment on your seemingly insatiable desire for blue jeans and cowboy boots.”
They took their leave shortly after, and Madeline said goodbye to each member of the family. She thanked Mr. and Mrs. Martinez for their hospitality.
Kathleen waved away her thanks. “We’re glad you came. Next time, don’t wait for Cruz to kidnap you. You’re welcome anytime.”
Tomas added, “You’ll have to come back and tell me how you got Cruz to let you drive his car. Maybe it will work for me.”
“Sorry,” Cruz denied swiftly. “I only fall for that particular bet once.”
“You won’t forget what we talked about, will you, Cruz?” Miguel asked.
“I’ll run home and get my checkbook,” Cruz promised. “I’ll drop the check off here and you can swing by tomorrow before classes and pick it up.”
“Thanks,” Miguel said with relief in his voice. “You’re the best.”
It took several more minutes to get away, as the family gathered around to hug Cruz.
Getting into the car and buckling up, Madeline noted, “I liked your family. They all seemed very nice.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “And everyone seemed to have your number.”
“That’s the problem with families. No respect. Do you mind if we stop at my place before I take you home? I need to get something.”
“Your checkbook?” Madeline asked. At his look she explained, “I heard what you said to Miguel. He seemed pretty relieved. So, tell me. Did you lose a bet to him, too?”
He chuckled. “No, I didn’t lose a bet to him. I think my experience with you yesterday cured me of betting for good. He got in a bind at college again. Some additional fees cropped up and he needs some extra money, that’s all. I’m just helping him out.”
“Helping him out?” she pressed. “Or putting him through school?” She knew she’d guessed correctly by his silence. “You’re putting Maureen through college, too, aren’t you?”
He actually squirmed. “Not exactly. They’ve both gotten some grants. I didn’t want them to have to graduate with huge loans hanging over their heads, that’s all. I give them enough to cover what the grants don’t.”
Maureen had intimated as much to her when they were upstairs. And Madeline could guess that Cruz was downplaying his role in their college careers. Regardless of his protests, she guessed that Cruz was the sole reason his two youngest siblings could go to college. Here was another huge expense that Cruz could inexplicably afford. Her throat tight, she inquired, “And your parents’ house? Were they able to buy that because of you, too?”
He gave a crooked smile. “You don’t realize how machismo works in my family. It’s perfectly acceptable for an older brother to help out a younger sibling. But I couldn’t offer that kind of help to my father. That would be a slap at his male pride. I wouldn’t offend him that way. It’s enough that I’m able to ease his financial burden of educating the two youngest.” And it had been difficult to get his father to accept that kind of help, he remembered wryly. It had taken all of Cruz’s considerable diplomacy to word it in such a way as not to insult the man from whom he’d inherited his own fierce pride.
Madeline was silent. Actually, what she’d learned today only underlined what she’d already surmised about him. The fancy car, the expensive apartment and the financial help he was giving his siblings all pointed to one thing. Cruz Martinez had an outside source of income. She’d already drawn that conclusion, so why should this latest bit of evidence bother her?
And she couldn’t help admitting that it did bother her. She was too good a cop to leap to any conclusions about how he earned that second income, but it was an unknown entity, and she didn’t like loose ends. She preferred things in her life lined up in order, and she didn’t rest on a case until she could fit every piece of evidence into its proper compartment. She hadn’t found anything solid on him yet, and until she did she was going to have to live with this nagging sense of uncertainty.
She scowled. Uncertainty made her uncomfortable, and discomfort kept her edgy. She’d felt like that only once before, before it had become obvious that Dennis Belding had used her for his own financial gain. But that was ridiculous. Why should she feel that way now? The two situations had nothing in common. She had loved Dennis, and Cruz… Cruz was only a job. It was just difficult to spend so much time working as closely as she did with him and not feel some sort of regret that he, like so many crooks before him, might have decided to take the easy way out.
They arrived at his apartment in silence. As he pulled in to a parking place Cruz sent Madeline a concerned glance. Since the brief exchange they’d had upon leaving his folks’ house, she’d fallen into a reflective silence. Maybe he’d made a mistake kidnapping her today. From the little she’d told him about her family, his own must have been a shocking contrast.
“Care to come up?” he invited, his hand hesitating on the door handle.
She surprised him with her answer. “Sure.” She might as well take this opportunity to see his apartment. It was the only way she was going to be able to tell how far out of his price range it appeared to be.
She cast a wary glance around as they entered the front door of the building, hoping that his landlady would not be in sight. Otherwise she would be required to do some very fast talking to explain her previous presence at the building. Fortunately for her, they saw no one else, either in the hallways or the elevator.
After Cruz unlocked his apartment and ushered her inside, Madeline stopped in shock. Far from the opulent surroundings that she’d half expected, half feared, the huge space was very bare. She walked inside and turned around slowly, looking at the place.
; Cruz shut the door in back of them and leaned against it. For some reason he couldn’t put a name to, he was waiting in anticipation of Madeline’s reaction to his home. He watched through hooded eyes as she trailed her hand over the wide woodwork with its recent coats of varnish. His gaze followed her to the huge set of windows that looked out at the street. He’d done nothing about curtains yet. He was less concerned about privacy than with preserving the view afforded him at night, when the lights veiled the city like a glittering blanket.
His gaze brooding, he asked himself silently why her approval of his home meant so much to him.
Chapter 11
Madeline turned to face him, and he caught his breath. The early-evening sunlight framed her where she stood in front of the windows. It haloed her hair, turning it into a waterfall of cascading fire. He didn’t speak; he couldn’t. She made the most breathtaking picture he could imagine, and his throat was full.
“Looks like you’re in the middle of quite a project,” she stated. Scaffolding was pushed against one wall. In a corner were piles of tarps and paint cans. The air smelled faintly of paint and varnish. Even her untutored eye could tell that the walls had fresh Sheetrock, and the woodwork had been stripped and stained. The floor was bare and dull, as if it had been sanded.
At his continued silence, she said, “You must have quite a crew working for you.”
He finally moved, and when he answered, his voice was a pitch lower than normal. “A crew of one most of the time.” When she frowned uncomprehendingly, he tapped himself on the chest. “Me.”
“You?” she repeated in surprise. Why didn’t he have trained craftsmen come in and take care of all this construction for him? She suspected he could afford it. Few people would have the patience or the inclination to take on a project of this magnitude by themselves.
Talking about what he’d done so far to the place was usually one of Cruz’s favorite topics. But right now it was the last thing on his mind. He was still reeling from the curious sense of rightness he got at seeing Madeline in his home for the first time. He had the oddest sense of déjà vu, as if he’d seen her standing in front of those same windows many times before. Which perhaps he had. He’d pictured her several times in his home.
In his bed.
He mentally shook himself. That was not the avenue he wanted his thoughts to travel right now, so he forced himself to focus on the topic at hand. “Of course, I had more help in the beginning. After I’d gutted the place, a crew did come in and frame it up for me. Naturally I had plumbers and electricians. I wanted to live in it right away, so they went ahead and did the remodeling necessary for the kitchen and the loft.”
Madeline’s eyes traveled in the direction he indicated. A spiral staircase rose from the room and rose upward to what, she knew without being told, was his bedroom. A shiver raced down her spine at the thought of walking up those stairs. She pulled her gaze away and trained them back on him.
“C’mon.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “I’ll give you a guided tour.” It would be a way to keep his mind busy, which persisted in other, more erotic meanderings. He ushered her down a hallway and opened each of the doors. “These will be two bedrooms and a bath. I haven’t done anything back here except put up the Sheetrock.” Madeline walked into the rooms curiously. The woodwork lay neatly in a pile along one wall in each room, waiting to be stripped and stained before it would be reapplied. “I won’t finish those rooms until last,” he said as they walked toward the kitchen.
“This is going to be quite a place. Pretty big for one person.”
He propped himself against the counter and watched her soberly. “I don’t intend to live in it by myself.”
Her breath stopped in her throat. Of course. Why hadn’t she considered that? A man who looked like Cruz was bound to know throngs of women, most of whom would give their eyeteeth to live with him. She couldn’t prevent a reaction to his words, and he easily read her amazement.
“I mean, not forever. I’d like to have a family someday. This is a decent neighborhood. It would be a safe place to raise kids.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Do you have a mother for these children picked out, or do you plan to adopt?” She hid her real interest in his answer by prowling around his large, well-equipped kitchen.
“I plan to have kids the old-fashioned way. But, no, I don’t have anyone in mind for the task.”
She didn’t put a name to the wash of relief that swept through her at his words. It didn’t matter a whit to her if he planned to marry tomorrow. Cruz Martinez was only of interest to her while she gathered evidence to turn over to Brewer. And once she was finished, it was possible that the man might not be starting a family for a very long time.
But something besides his words told her how much he wanted that family. Everything about this home he was making spoke of a person determined to fill it up. The kitchen was large, with a huge center island curving through it. Stools sat neatly beside it, as if waiting for the children he spoke of.
“Over here-” his voice interrupted her explorations “-will be a small office. I’ll start on that after I finish the great room.” She followed him to the area he indicated, then they wandered back into the living room.
“What are your…” Her voice came out husky, and she cleared her throat. “What else are you planning to do with it?”
“I’m almost finished in here. I’ve stripped and sanded the floor, and I’ve the calluses on my knees to prove it.”
She recalled then a conversation they’d had in which he’d invited her to guess what he’d been doing on his knees all weekend. Even if she’d allowed him to bait her into joining in his game, she never would have guessed that he’d been stripping floors. She cast him a reproving look, and could see from the irrepressible grin on his face that he was remembering the same moment.
“I’m sure all minutes that you’re on your knees are well spent.”
His smile disappeared. “You can bet on that.”
A long moment fraught with unspoken tension stretched between them. Cruz broke the silence first. “After I stain and varnish, I’ll have to buy some rugs. I don’t want to carpet over these hardwood floors. Part of this room will be a dining area, but most will be a living area. I like lots of space.”
That was obvious. But how had he afforded all this space? That was the question still plaguing Madeline. “Why are you doing so much of the work yourself? You could… I mean, couldn’t you have someone fix it up for you? It wouldn’t take so long then.”
He shrugged. “I’m in no hurry. And there’s a feeling of satisfaction I get from doing the work myself.” When she still looked unconvinced, he added, “Believe it or not, I’m very good with my hands.”
She was certain he spoke the truth. But her mind didn’t dwell on the more mundane meaning of his words. Cruz was a toucher; she’d realized that soon after she’d met him. She’d seen how physically affectionate he was with his family. Right now he was absently rubbing two fingers along the satiny finish of the windowsill he was propped against. Her eyes trailed over his muscled thighs outlined faithfully by the worn denim. She wondered waspishly if the reason he leaned against everything in sight was that he knew the pose showed his long, hard body off to such advantage. He probably wore jeans constantly for the same reason. They clung lovingly to his thighs and gloved his sex. She pulled her gaze away with effort, and the fact that it had taken effort annoyed her.
“Why don’t you ever stand up straight?” she snapped, turning away from the indolent picture he made.
He noted her sign of temper and wondered at it. “Why stand when you can lean?” he asked logically. “Why sit when you can slouch?”
“Your chiropractor must love you.”
“Never been to one. I’m the picture of health.”
He was certainly that. And more. The picture of a drop-dead gorgeous man in his prime, a healthy male animal who managed to exude good-humored charm and sexiness at the same time. That
should be outlawed. He should be outlawed. Suddenly the room seemed much too small. She reminded herself that the man she was admiring visually might be less than admirable in other ways. And the fact that she needed such a reminder yet again was proof that she’d stayed too long in his presence.
He hadn’t made an offer to show her upstairs, and he didn’t intend to. Cruz wasn’t sure how much longer he could trust himself not to make a move toward her, and in the intimate surroundings of his bedroom the temptation would be even greater. As perfect as she seemed standing here, he was certain she would seem even more so in his room, where he’d imagined her too many times for comfort.
“Well, if you’re ready, I’m sure you want to get back to your parents’ after you take me home,” Madeline said, her uneasiness growing. She was tiring of the incessant warnings her mind issued her every time she noticed with appreciation the way he moved, talked or looked. The constant tug-of-war taking place inside her was exhausting. This feeling of teetering on the edge was wearing on her nerves, and on her control.
“There’s no rush,” Cruz said dismissively without remarking on her sudden anxiousness to leave. “I’m hungry again. Do you want a sandwich?”
Her heart sank at the thought of spending one more minute in his apartment. The atmosphere seemed too intimate somehow, and though she was obviously the only one to feel it, she wanted out of here before it acted to lower her defenses even further. “You can’t possibly want to eat again,” she argued with him desperately, following him out to the kitchen.
“But I do. I didn’t have much at Mom’s. I was too worried about keeping your plate full.”
An unladylike snort was her answer and Cruz smiled to himself. He’d had plenty to eat earlier, and it was another kind of hunger that was gnawing at him right now. But he was willing to seize any excuse to keep her here a few more minutes, and for some reason that seemed important to him. Especially since she was exhibiting a sudden desire to escape.