Up Close and Personal

by Maureen Child

  Now, he was using what he knew against her and doing it damned well, too.

  Silence spun out in the room for several long moments and hung there, caught in a web of tension so thick Laura could hardly draw a breath. Neither of them shattered the spell. It was Georgia who finally spoke up.

  “If you want my opinion,” she said.

  “Really don’t,” Laura snapped.

  “Well, I’d be interested,” Ronan said.

  Georgia didn’t need much encouragement. Ronan smiled as she came around her desk and walked across the room to stand beside him. She barely looked at him though, keeping her gaze fixed on her sister.

  “Are you nuts?” she asked.

  Laura heard Ronan’s snort of laughter as she said, “Excuse me?”

  “Well, come on,” her sister said, “business isn’t great enough to turn down any prospective buyer.”

  “He isn’t a buyer,” Laura argued. “He’s using his money to manipulate me. Us.”

  “Manipulate’s a harsh word,” he insisted. “I need a house. You sell houses. Seems simple enough to me.”

  “There you go! It’s settled.” Georgia took Laura’s arm and pulled her up from her chair. “So why don’t you two head out for some coffee? Ronan can tell you what he’s thinking of and meanwhile I’ll print out some likely prospects in the Laguna area. You like the cliffs, right?”

  “I do. Reminds me of home.”

  “Great, good.” Georgia picked up Laura’s purse and handed it to her. “So go on now, I should have ten or twenty listings for you by the time you get back.”

  “They shoot traitors, you know,” Laura murmured.

  “Hey, it’s Tuesday,” Georgia said, herding Laura and Ronan to the door. “Carmen always makes cinnamon rolls on Tuesdays. You can bring me back one.”

  Ronan was on the street in the sunshine blinking a moment later, thinking that Georgia would have made an excellent bodyguard. She took charge, and apparently, since she had ignored her sister’s fury, the woman was fearless as well.

  “You use your money like a club,” Laura said hotly. “Have you ever noticed that?”

  “It’s not a club, but, aye, I have used it as a weapon before. And will again.” He used what he had to win. Always had. Always would.

  “You seem proud.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” He stepped onto the sidewalk after her. “I’ve got it. What good is it to stand about and not use it?”

  “You don’t play fair.”

  “I play to win and you know that very well,” he said, catching her gaze with his.

  She blew out a breath. “Are you serious about this?” Laura asked, tucking her purse under her left arm.

  “I am,” he said. Dead serious. This was the perfect plan. After all, he would need a house here. He despised renting and hotels didn’t suit him. And the added benefit to the protracted house hunt he had in mind was the time Laura would be forced to spend with him.

  He wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. The knowledge that this woman had actually carried and lost his child had still not completely sunk in. But if she thought the connection between them was severed, she was wrong. She wouldn’t be turning her back on him. Locking him out of her life. Her bed. Not yet, anyway.

  Damned if he would be tossed aside. The explosive sex they’d shared the night before had only served to convince him that he’d made a mistake in ending what was between them so soon. He wanted her. She wanted him. He’d have her back in his bed, where she belonged, and when he finally decided he’d had enough, then and only then, would they be over.

  She watched his eyes as if searching for a trick, a trap. But she would find nothing there he didn’t want her to see. He knew well how to keep his own secrets.

  Finally, Laura nodded and started walking. “Fine, then. We’ll go have coffee, talk about what you want and then I’ll take a poisoned cinnamon roll back to my sister.”

  He laughed and she shot him a wry grin. “Okay, not poisoned.”

  “Is it so hard then, Laura, to work with me?”

  “Not if that’s all you want from me.” Her red heels made a pleasant clicking sound against the sidewalk. “I am a professional, after all.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” he told her, and took one moment to indulge himself in admiring her. That thick, blond hair hung in a tumble of waves past her shoulders. She wore a red blazer with a white shirt and black skirt that stopped a few inches above her knees. A lovely woman with a glint in her blue eyes that told him whatever he had in mind, she was ready for it.

  They’d just see about that.

  “Gets busy early around here.” He took her arm and pulled her to one side as a skateboarder hurtled past them, earphones in his ears, head rocking to music only he could hear.

  “Just like anywhere else,” Laura said. “Businesses are open and hopefully people come out to buy.”

  Traffic jostled for space on this narrow section of Pacific Coast Highway. Pedestrians darted through the stopped cars, unwilling to walk to the crosswalk or wait for a green light. Sunlight poured down on the entire scene from a bright blue sky and from somewhere up ahead, the scent of fresh baked goods wafted to them on the sea wind.

  Laura took a deep breath and sighed. “Tuesdays at Carmen’s can’t be beat.” Then she looked up at him. “Come on then, we’ll snag a table and talk—about business.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said and smiled to himself when she turned to walk on.

  Surfers, children and an elderly couple were waiting patiently in line. Ronan insisted on placing the order and sent Laura off to find them a table in the already crowded bakery.

  She was waiting for him at a corner spot by the front window. The tables were small and round and the tiny chairs were not built for a man of Ronan’s size. But he made do, being sure to bump his knees against Laura’s as he took his seat.

  “Your friend does good business here.”

  Laura took the plastic lid off her latte and blew gently across the surface before taking a sip. “She makes superior cinnamon rolls. Among other things.”

  He took a bite and had to agree as sugar and spice dissolved into heaven on his tongue. Ronan hadn’t even realized he was hungry, but now he practically inhaled the pastry and gave Laura a sheepish grin when she asked, “Hungry, are we?”

  “I’m a man of many appetites,” he told her and had the pleasure of watching her flush.

  “Okay,” she said flatly. “First rule. No flirting.”

  “I don’t flirt.”

  “Oh, please. You’re an expert,” she countered, taking another sip of her latte. “And with that accent of yours, it’s a double threat.”

  “The accent can’t be helped, though I’ll try to tone down my charm if I’m so irresistible to you.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  She didn’t have to, his skin was all but buzzing still from what they’d shared the night before. He knew her body. Knew her mind. And knew she was trying to cover her physical reactions to him.

  “Ah, that’s lovely. We’ve no problems then, have we?” Point scored, he lifted his coffee cup and eased carefully against the back of the seat, half expecting it to break off and send him to the tile floor in a sprawl.

  “No problem at all.” Reaching for her purse, Laura pulled out a small tablet and a pen, then looked at him. “So, what kind of house do you have in mind?”

  He shrugged and took a sip of his latte. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “That’s not much help in the looking department.” She tapped her pen against her pad in a show of nerves. How like Laura, the old-fashioned girl, to prefer paper and pen to a computer tablet. He found it almost endearing.

  Then, as that thought settled in, he scowled a little and reminded himself just who was in charge of this game between them.

  “Well,” he said, “we’ve known each other some time, so what kind of house do you see me in?”

  Laura tipped her he
ad to one side, studied him thoughtfully for a moment and started with “Big, for one.”

  He laughed and shifted unsteadily on the tiny café chair. “Aye, that’s a good start.”

  “Near or on the water,” she continued.

  “I do love the sea. Comes from growing up so near to it, I suppose.”

  It was something they’d had in common when first they’d met, he thought. Her, born and raised in a California beach town and he on the other side of the world, had found common ground in their love of the ocean. The Pacific was too mild and tame for Ronan’s taste though. He preferred the Atlantic where the waves raged and thundered against Ireland’s shores.

  And then there was Lough Mask, he thought, near his home, as wide and beautiful as the sea, but with a calmness that soothed. A pang of something echoed inside him and Ronan realized he was homesick. He’d been gone from Ireland for nearly six months and his soul yearned for it.

  She nodded, made another note on her pad and said, “You love books, so a library would be good. And either a separate office or a library big enough to serve as both.”

  Ronan smiled. She did know him well. And what did that mean? He’d never spent enough time with any one woman for her to know him as well as Laura apparently did. Ronan scowled to himself as one simple fact reached up and grabbed him at the base of his throat.

  He was in deeper with Laura than he had thought.

  Yet he couldn’t make himself back away. He wanted her. His body ached for her right now, so letting her go was out of the question.

  “You can’t cook,” she said, interrupting his train of thought, “so I’m guessing a kitchen a housekeeper or chef would love…”

  He had to laugh. “I only burned the soup that once,” he insisted. “And you were distracting me at the time.”

  He could still see her in memory, perched naked on the granite counter at the Laguna house, smiling at him. Welcoming him as he forgot all about the soup on the stove and gathered her close. Their lovemaking had been fast and hard and completely satisfying—until they had heard the hiss of the soup boiling over.

  “It was canned soup, Ronan,” she said, “and you managed to ruin it.”

  “As I recall, ’twas worth it,” he mused and enjoyed seeing the flash of memory dart across her eyes leaving behind a smudge of desire.

  “Yeah, well,” Laura said, dropping her gaze to the pad in front of her. “Moving on. You like a lot of privacy, too, so you won’t want a close neighbor.”

  “True enough.” He shuddered at the thought. His home in Ireland was a manor house with its own damn park surrounding it. His closest neighbor, Maeve Carroll, lived in a cottage almost half a mile from him and the village was beyond that. “Don’t know how you accept people being able to peer over fences at you. See into your tiny yards, into your lives whenever they’re of a mind.”

  “It’s called being neighborly.”

  “Or annoying.”

  “You know,” she said, shaking her head, “just because you can spy on your neighbor doesn’t mean you do it.”

  He shook his head. “You mean I’m to trust my fellow man? I don’t think so.”

  “Trust runs both ways, Ronan,” she said, then cleared her throat and continued before he could comment. “Several bedrooms, I think, in case you have…guests.” She bent her head to make a note and Ronan fisted his hands to keep from reaching out to touch the sunlit fall of her hair.

  Grumbling under his breath at his own ragged control, he tried to get back on topic. “That’s a good point. I’ll have people coming in from Cosain, Galway from time to time…”

  “So,” she interrupted, “basically, you want a mansion all by itself on the ocean with plenty of room for books and guests.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  She frowned. “And not easy to find.”

  “Then we’d best get looking, hadn’t we?” He stood up and instinctively held her chair for her to rise and stand beside him. When she had, he touched her face and with his fingertips, turned it up to him.

  “Trust is something that comes hard to me,” he said quietly.

  “I know.” She moved her head enough to have his fingers slide from her skin.

  “Aye, I suppose so as you do know a bit about me, Laura,” he said, keeping his voice low, for her ears only. “But there’s more yet to learn.”

  Around them, Carmen’s bakery was a hive of conversation, laughter and the bright buzz of people enjoying their morning. But here, in this corner, there was just the two of them.

  Ronan looked into clear blue eyes, and saw only wariness looking back at him. A part of him regretted that. A larger part wondered how long it would take him to turn that suspicion into passion again.

  Seven

  For two weeks, they spent every day together. And every day, Ronan chipped away at Laura’s resolve.

  It wasn’t outright. Nothing she could call him on, nothing that would allow her to warn him to back off. No, he was sneakier than that.

  He held her chair for her at lunch and would let his fingertips trail across her shoulders as she seated herself. He put his hand at the small of her back when they climbed stairs to some of the cliff-side homes she showed him. She felt his touch all the way to her bones and she knew he was well aware of what he was doing.

  When she spoke, he gave her his full attention, his gaze locked with hers as if she were the most important being on earth. The heat in his gaze was unmistakable and impossible to ignore. He knew that, too. She was sure of it.

  And for two weeks, he found something wrong with every property she showed him. Too small. Too big. Too high on the cliff, too low on the hillside. Not near enough to the ocean, too close to the crash of waves. He was perfectly reasonable about it, but the upshot was the same. He was dragging out their time together and Laura was on the ragged edge of her control.

  It was all well and good to make a vow of chastity where Ronan was concerned—but keeping that vow was turning out to be even more difficult than she had thought it would be.

  Especially, she thought, when he spent more time at her house than he did at his. Even now, he was sprawled companionably on the couch beside her, long legs stretched out, feet crossed at the ankles. When he stirred, it was to grab another slice of pizza from the open box on the coffee table in front of them.

  He broke off a piece of crust before tossing it to Beast. Then, taking a sip of his beer, he looked at her and winked. “You’re watching me in the way a woman does when she’s thinking something.”

  “I’m thinking you look awfully comfortable.”

  “And why shouldn’t I? It’s a lovely house, there’s a fire in the hearth, a lovely woman at my side and a dog at me feet.”

  “Thank you very much,” Georgia said from the chair.

  “I beg your pardon,” Ronan corrected himself with a blinding grin. “Two lovely women.”

  “Much better.” Georgia lifted her wineglass in a silent toast.

  “You’re no help,” Laura told her sister.

  “Was I supposed to help?” Georgia hid her grin behind her wineglass as she took another sip.

  “So, you don’t want me to be comfortable?” Ronan asked.

  “I just don’t understand why you have to be comfortable here.”

  “Because, love, you have yet to find me a suitable house to buy.”

  “You could go to the one you rent.”

  “Did you hear that, Georgia?” Ronan shook his head sadly and lowered his voice dramatically. “She wants me away to sit by myself in that empty house rather than be here with friends.” As he said that last word, he turned his gaze on Laura meaningfully.

  She knew what he was doing, but damned if she could find a way to stop him. If she tried to bar him from the house, Georgia would only let him in anyway.

  “Beast is getting fat,” Ronan mused as he picked up the wine bottle and refilled Laura’s and Georgia’s glasses.

  “Then stop sneaking him pizza,” Laura told
him.

  “Ah,” Ronan countered. “But he wants it so.”

  “Sometimes what we want isn’t good for us,” she argued.

  “And sometimes the wanting is all we have, and we should enjoy it for what it is.”

  “And sometimes,” Georgia said, “other people in the room get tired of hearing people speak in code.”

  Laura grumbled, but otherwise kept quiet as Georgia flicked on the TV and a cable news program came on. Georgia was a news addict, and Laura couldn’t understand it. From what she could tell, it was mostly bad news anyway.

  “Where is this house you want to show me tomorrow?” Ronan asked and Laura turned her head to look at him.

  Lamplight glowed softly behind him. To one side was the fireplace, flames snapping and hissing as they devoured the wood. Laura held out one of the two property sheets she held in her hand toward Ronan and waited for him to take it.

  “There are two, actually,” she said, pleased to be back on solid ground, even though she knew darn well that he would dismiss whatever palatial estate she showed him. Even the lovely one that he barely glanced at before handing back to her. “That one is in Dana Point, farther south along the coast. The house was built only three years ago. It’s a Cape Cod style, but—”

  “It won’t do.” Ronan eased closer to her on the couch.

  “You didn’t even look at the picture, Ronan,” she said. “You could at least wait to see the house before saying no.”

  “There’d be no point. I’ve no interest in a Cape Cod style. Lovely as they are, they don’t speak to me.”

  “Well, what does speak to you, for heaven’s sake?”

  “You do,” he murmured.

  Something inside her fluttered excitedly into life. Laura squashed that little bud of hope like a bug. Flirting came so easily to him, it was second nature. Desire was just as easy and meant as little. Without real feelings behind the passion, what was the point?

  She’d learned that lesson and didn’t intend to forget it. “Don’t go there.”

  “Why the bloody hell not?” he whispered, lowering his voice so that Georgia wouldn’t hear, as focused as she was on the television across the room. “We’re good together.”