by Kylie Brant
“We have some excellent sources at the school,” she responded. “I have copies of a few books myself. You’re welcome to use them.”
“Thanks. Trask is gathering up all the resources he can for me. He’s read the material I brought home, as well. He’s pretty attached to Chloe.”
“Have you discussed this with Chloe’s mother?”
Michael’s hand halted halfway to his mouth with another cookie. “God, no,” he muttered feelingly. Though she didn’t say anything, he could feel her disapproval. “First I want to learn more about it myself. If I ever do decide to take Chloe to a doctor about it, I’ll talk to Deanna then.” He wouldn’t look forward to that discussion, but he wasn’t going to worry overmuch about it yet. He still believed that the possibility of Chloe having the disorder was remote. He wasn’t going to put himself through a tangle with Deanna unless he was certain there was a need for it.
He dismissed his ex-wife from his mind with casual ease and returned all his attention to Kate. She reached for a cookie from the plate between them, and his gaze lingered on the delicate wrist, the long, slender fingers. She was fairly tall for a woman but still came only up to his shoulder. He’d dated a few models and had always enjoyed not having to fold himself in half to kiss them. But this woman would make a little effort worthwhile. He hadn’t liked the bony angles and lack of feminine curves on the models, preferring instead a woman with defined female attributes. Kate’s breasts were shown off to perfection in the thin cotton shirt she was wearing. High and round, each would be a luscious handful.
Suddenly aware of where his gaze had lingered, Michael looked quickly at her face to see if she’d noticed. Judging by the color that had returned to her cheeks, she had. Deliberately changing the subject, he said, “Actually, I had another reason for coming to see you today.” He leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. “Chloe has a birthday coming up next week.”
Kate nodded. “Yes, I know. We celebrate birthdays in the classroom, too.”
“Deanna has arranged a party for her and a few friends the weekend after her birthday, but I’ll be spending the day with her, and I wanted to do something special. She’s made the plans, and they include you.”
“Me?”
Michael’s eyes glinted with humor. “Yes. You, Miss Rose, are her idol. You can do no wrong, and there’s nothing she’d like more than to have you join us for a trip to—” he barely restrained the grimace “—Freddie’s Funhouse.”
Kate appeared to choose her words carefully. “That’s sweet, but I don’t belong at a family celebration.”
One eyebrow cocked, he inquired, “You wouldn’t by any chance be turning us down because you have an aversion to Freddie’s, would you?”
She shook her head. “Actually, I’ve never even been there.”
“Ah. Well then, you should know that at Freddie’s, they use only real cheese on their pizzas, the tokens for the games are four for a dollar, and the fun never ends.”
Her lips twitched. “It’s a very attractive offer, but I still would feel out of place.”
Michael leaned forward, suddenly serious. “I hope you’re not turning down the invitation because of the way I acted at our previous meetings. I’d hate for Chloe to be disappointed because of my behavior.”
He’d succeeded in flustering her. Her gaze bounced to his, and then away. “No. We’ve reached a truce, remember?”
His shoulders relaxed against the back of his chair. “Good. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, but I really do hope you’ll consider joining us, Kate. I wasn’t exaggerating when I mentioned how much Chloe likes you. You’ve been a major topic of discussion over the dinner table since the first of September. We’ve heard about what you wear, what you say, and I must tell you, Chloe is quite impressed with your prowess with a jump rope.”
She bit her lip. “Oh, Lord.”
“Seriously,” he continued, “I was relieved to find that she took to you so quickly. She was pretty young at the time of the divorce, but when the living arrangements changed, I was really worried about the transition.”
“She seems very well adjusted.”
He nodded. “I think so. She gets a lot of attention, but I don’t want her to become spoiled. She really seems to be okay with the reversed custody.” He gave a rueful shrug. “I can’t tell if it’s wishful thinking on my part, but she appears happy. She loves our place, loves having the dogs and horses around. Doesn’t even seem to mind roughing it with two old bachelors who aren’t always sure of what they’re doing.”
Kate leaned forward impulsively and touched his hand. “Chloe speaks of you often, and of Mr. Trask. And from the frequency with which you both appear in her pictures, you’re at least as popular with her as the dogs and horses.”
Her slightly teasing tone wasn’t lost on him, but his attention was arrested by the feel of her fingers on his skin. The easy warmth that was so much a part of her was transferred by her touch, and a corresponding heat spread through him. She did that often, he realized. By the end of their last meeting he’d been a little dazed, but not so much that he couldn’t remember the way she’d walked out of the office ahead of him, her hand on the nurse’s arm as they spoke.
When she would have withdrawn her touch, he neatly reversed their positions, capturing her fingers in his. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said, his wry tone meant to distract her from the thumb he sent skating across her knuckles. “I’ll take your word for it, since you’re the expert here. There are actually times when I think Chloe has me at least as well trained as our golden retriever.”
Her gaze dropped to their hands then, and after a moment Michael let go of hers, saying easily, “If I don’t miss my guess, that last batch of cookies should be just about finished.”
He watched her take the pans out of the oven and turn off the controls. Reaching for another cookie, he chewed slowly, thoroughly enjoying the situation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat in someone’s kitchen enjoying freshly baked treats and conversation, but undoubtedly it had been when he was a child. Not his own kitchen then, of course. His mother hadn’t been the type for baking before his father had walked out, and afterward had been too tired from her jobs to do much cooking. But he’d been to friends’ houses, had occasionally stayed with his grandmother, before her health had failed.
While Kate started putting cookies in plastic storage containers, he studied his surroundings with interest. Her condo was small, but unlike most of the new buildings springing up around the D.C. area, it didn’t lack character. Bright curtains hung at the kitchen window, and the narrow woodwork gleamed with a fresh coat of white paint. He was sitting at a wicker table, obviously an antique that had been carefully restored. There wasn’t a lot of furniture in the rooms he’d passed through, but all of it looked as though it had been chosen carefully. Framed prints dotted the walls, green plants brightened corners, and photographs in antique frames were carefully arranged on top of the TV.
The total effect was of a home, a reflection of the woman who lived here. He frowned a little, wondering just how she’d managed to convey the feeling of warmth that emanated from the place when he, for all his money, couldn’t find a decorator he didn’t feel like strangling after two minutes.
“I should hire you to decorate my house,” he muttered.
She looked at him askance. “You have a taste for Early American Poverty?”
“It’s not what you have in it,” he tried to explain. “Or it is, sort of.”
“You scientific types are very succinct, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “What I mean is, the place looks like a real person lives here. It has personality.”
“And what’s your house like?”
“Empty, mostly. It literally echoes. I just bought it a year ago, and I haven’t had time to do a lot of furniture shopping. Plus, I have no idea about colors or styles. I just know—”
“What you like,” she finished for hi
m.
“Exactly.”
“There are all kinds of interior design businesses who specialize in such things. I wouldn’t think it would be too difficult to find one who could come up with something to your taste.”
“I don’t want a place that looks like it’s been ‘done,’” he explained. “I want a real home, one that looks like real people live there. I’ve never met a decorator who could coordinate homey with classy. I got so desperate I almost asked my mother for advice.” He shuddered. “Luckily I remembered what her place looks like in time to save mine from being turned into a museum.”
“How about Chloe?” Kate asked, her interest clearly piqued. “Sometimes kids come up with creative ideas. Have you asked her opinion?”
“Oh, yes. And it was very creative.” He rolled his eyes expressively. “She thinks we should put a trampoline in the living room.”
That smile showed up again. It transformed her features in a totally unexpected way, turning her lovely, slightly serious expression into an intoxicating vision that had his loins tightening, his pulse ping-ponging with physical chemistry. This woman had the potential to wreak serious havoc with his cardiovascular system, not to mention his libido, which seemed to simmer in a semistate of arousal just in her presence.
All in all, he was pleased with the events of the evening. It had gone well, better than he’d expected, much better than he’d deserved. She’d been guarded but gracious when he’d barged into her home, showing a sense of humor and genuine warmth that he found too enticing to be physically comfortable.
He tore his eyes away from her with effort and made a show of looking at his watch. “I’ve taken up too much of your time,” he said, attempting to sound regretful. He rose and lifted his coat off the back of the chair where he’d hung it. He shrugged into it carelessly, not bothering to zip it, and headed toward her front door. She followed him.
At the door he turned and looked down into her face. “Thank you again.”
Her head tilted upward to meet his gaze. “For the cookies?”
“For not throwing me out.”
“I told you, it’s all right.” Her smile was wry. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first parent to disagree with me.”
“You’re too generous,” he said soberly. Without conscious volition, he reached out one blunt-tipped index finger and brushed a curly tendril of her hair over her shoulder. It sprang back into place beside her delicate jawline as soon as he removed his finger. He smiled bemusedly. It felt alive, as if it had a will of its own. The rest of his fingers itched to bury themselves into that thick mass of hair, to feel it tumbling over the back of his hands and wrists.
His pulse slowed to a heavy thud at the evocative image. For a moment, before rational thought kicked in again, his face moved closer to hers. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move away from him. Her lips parted a bit, and he imagined he could feel her breath on his chin. All it would take was a couple more inches. If he lowered his head just that small amount, he would be close enough to…
Violently he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets, then stepped back. “I appreciate your hospitality. We plan to go out on Wednesday, fairly early so that we don’t keep Chloe out past her bedtime. How about if we pick you up at four-thirty?”
Kate blinked a couple of times and then shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I can just meet you there in my car.”
“It’s no problem. Besides, you don’t know where we live, and we’ll have to go back to the house after Freddie’s.” He winked at her, turning to open the door. “What’s a birthday without ice cream and cake?”
Before she could summon a protest, she was faced with his retreating back.
Only after Michael’s taillights had disappeared did Kate become aware of the brisk air. Stepping back into her condo, she closed the door, shaking her head wryly. She felt as if a steamroller had entered her life, then just as quickly left it. She would have preferred arriving at the party in her own car. The thought of going to Chloe and Michael’s home afterward filled her with a sense of unease. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole episode today had been part of a well-orchestrated plan, with her being herded, ever so good-naturedly, directly down the path that Michael wished her to go.
She headed back for the kitchen, then paused for a moment in the small living room. She looked at it, trying to see it as a stranger would, as Michael had. The carved oak rocker had reminded her of the one in her grandmother’s house, so she’d had to have it. The afghan draped over the back of it had actually been her grandmother’s, given to Kate for her sixteenth birthday. The telephone sat on a whimsically carved table next to the television, and the couch, although bought new, was reminiscent of styles a century ago. She’d skimped on the curtains, choosing filmy fabric that let in the light. She was satisfied with the effect she was slowly building. It was comfortable, it was home for her. But she saw nothing here that would impress a man of Michael’s wealth. Perplexed, she finally shrugged and went back to the kitchen.
Running water in the sink, she concentrated on washing the dishes she’d used baking. Even though she was aware that she had been finessed by an expert, she truly didn’t mind being part of Chloe’s birthday celebration. She enjoyed all of her students but privately had to admit that Chloe had become a favorite from the first day, when Kate had had to persuade her, gently but firmly, that she’d have to sit at her desk and not in the windowsill. The little girl had willingly complied, shooting Kate a grin that could melt steel. Even though Chloe had spent only five minutes at her desk before getting up again, her teacher’s heart had been stolen.
When the child was a teenager, that appeal was going to give the boys some very uncomfortable nights. She’d gotten it from her father, of course. His crooked smile did unbelievable things to his rough-hewn features, softening all those blunt angles and making him much more attractive than mere handsomeness could. All in all, Michael Friday was an explosive waiting to detonate, and she was glad that she would never see the full extent of his overwhelming charm. A man like that could haunt a woman, ruining her for safer, more ordinary men.
Her actions stopped as she remembered the long moment before he’d left. When he’d touched her hair, all hints of teasing had abruptly fled from his face. He’d seemed closer somehow, but instead of stepping away, she’d remained rooted to the floor, tempted by his proximity.
She felt a flush crawl up her cheekbones, and she scrubbed harder at the cookie sheet in the sink. For just a split second, for one desire-laden instant, she’d been tempted to go up on tiptoe and press her lips against Michael Friday’s. The memory was humiliating but true. Her gaze had focused on his mouth, entranced by the sensual curve of his full lower lip. And then he’d turned away, thankfully unaware of her uncustomary lapse of logic.
He was unlike anyone she’d ever considered dating, anyway. A man didn’t get to be that wealthy and powerful without gaining quite a bit of experience along the way. She’d almost found out firsthand how ruthless he could be when he wanted something.
No, he wasn’t the sort of man she’d ever get involved with. She’d escaped from a father who’d brandished control over his family like a weapon. From the distance of adulthood she could see that he’d clung to it as his only way of exerting some sort of power in his life, but she found that quality of his, and the misery it caused, difficult to forgive. Michael wasn’t a man who would need such a contrivance. He radiated power and control. That made him a dangerous man to her, regardless of his charm.
Her gaze landed on the yellow roses, and an involuntary smile played across her lips. A simple apology wouldn’t be enough for him. The lavish gesture hadn’t been completely wasted on her, though she’d striven not to show it. Drying her hands, she crossed over to the elegant flowers and finally gave in to the urge to bury her nose in their delicate petals. She loved flowers; as a child she’d filled their home with wildflowers she’d picked from nearby meadows. Buying fresh-cut flowers se
emed an extravagance to her, one she could ill afford. Which meant she would savor these lovely roses.
Picking up both jars, she carried them to the living room and sat them on the coffee table. Such generosity was probably of little consequence to Michael, and he couldn’t have predicted her reaction to the gesture. He didn’t need to know that he was the first man to ever utter an apology to her.
She inhaled deeply of the roses’ delicate scent. And under no circumstances would she let him guess that he was the first man ever to bring her flowers.
Chapter 4
Chloe whispered her idea to Kate and then sat back with her hands clasped over her mouth, her eyes wide and waiting.
Kate blinked. “You want a big clown’s mouth to hang on your bedroom wall?”
Clapping her hands, Chloe nodded gleefully. “Just like the one my daddy has to talk into when he orders my hamburgers.”
Kate finally understood. “You mean at the fast-food place.” The chain of restaurants the child was referring to had a garish three-foot clown with an enormous mouth one had to speak into when placing an order. In her one visit to the restaurant, Kate had found the process unappetizing enough to prevent her from returning.
“I can talk into the mouth and it will talk back to me,” Chloe said. “Just like it talks back to my daddy.”
Kate slid a glance at Michael, who was taking care of the bill at Freddie’s Funhouse. “What does your father think of this idea?”
Chloe dimpled. “It’s gonna be a sa-prise,” she whispered loudly.
Michael rejoined them in time to overhear Chloe’s last words. “If you’re talking about that clown mouth for your bedroom again, shortstuff, then you’re going to be the one ‘sa-prised.’” Swooping down, he caught her up and raised her until they were face-to-face. “It ain’t gonna happen.”
Chloe wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. “Yes, it is,” she said confidently.
Michael sent Kate a harried look. “You see what I’m up against? If she had her way, our home would be turned into a circus tent.”