The Only Man for Maggie

by Leigh Michaels

  Maggie leaned forward abruptly and grabbed for the pizza server. She thought Karr smothered a chuckle, but she wasn't certain.

  He took the plate she offered almost absent-mindedly. "I'm beginning to see why you're a bit choosy about a place to live."

  Maggie was astounded. "You are?"

  He nodded. "Some of your furniture wouldn't fit just anywhere. How did you get that bed up here, anyway? It's enormous."

  Maggie glanced toward the bedroom end of the apartment. It was only dimly lit, and her big canopied bed was little more than a looming shadow. "I haven't any idea," she said. "It was here when I came. The wardrobe and library table and bed belong to the original owner of this apartment, and they've been sort of passed down from tenant to tenant ever since."

  Too late, she wondered if Karr would seize that admission to argue that the pieces didn't really belong to her, and therefore she shouldn't have any trouble finding another place to live after all.

  But he merely asked, "What do you mean, the original owner?"

  "Didn't the people you bought the house from tell you anything about its history?"

  Karr shrugged. "I didn't ask."

  "I guess I'm not surprised." Maggie picked an olive off the top of her pizza and munched it. "The people who built the house lived in it for decades, so their children grew up here. The oldest son never left home—"

  "That must have driven his parents nuts." He looked thoughtful. "You know, maybe this place is haunted after all. This tendency of the tenants to drive other people crazy—"

  Maggie raised her voice a little and kept talking. "But he wanted his own quarters, so he took over the old attics and servants' quarters and rebuilt them into this." She waved a hand. "From what I hear, he fancied himself a proper gentleman—he was more Edwardian than King Edward himself."

  "Eccentric," Karr mused. "That fits the pattern."

  Maggie ignored him. "He put in all the walnut paneling, and the bookshelves, and the fireplace. As for the bed, maybe they built it right here. I just wish I could have seen the place with all the original furnishings. I'm sure he had dark green leather armchairs by the fire and sporting prints on the walls and genuine Oriental rugs instead of reproductions." She scuffed one foot on the rug to make her point.

  Karr looked around thoughtfully. "The kitchen doesn't seem to fit."

  "No, it was done later, when the rest of the house was converted."

  "The Edwardian gentleman's desire for independence didn't extend to cooking for himself?"

  Maggie laughed. "Apparently not. Too bad—he'd have spared no expense."

  "You absolutely love this house, don't you?" It was not really a question. "Tell you what, Maggie my dear—why don't you buy it from me? It would solve a big problem for both of us."

  Especially for him, Maggie thought. He was probably thinking fondly of being rid of a headache named Maggie Rawlings. "Sorry," she said crisply, "but I don't have that sort of cash tucked into a sock under my mattress."

  "Now that's a picture worth considering. Is it a black nylon stocking? Or maybe one of those with designs embroidered all the way to the top? Or—"

  "I said I didn't have— Oh, never mind."

  "Well, you think it over. I wouldn't even insist on making a profit."

  Maggie studied his face as he reached for another slice of pizza. "If you don't care about a profit, why did you buy it? And if you're not so sure it's a good investment anymore, why on earth would I want it? Even if I had the money, I'm not cut out to be a landlord."

  "Why rent it? You could have the whole thing to yourself, and nobody could ever bother you again."

  "All of it? Nobody needs this much space. The original owners probably had ten servants living in to take care of it all."

  Karr entered into the game. "And probably two grandmothers, three maiden aunts and a dozen or so permanent house guests."

  Maggie laughed. "Don't forget the eccentric son in the attic!" She reached for the teapot. "I'd better make more tea. This is getting cold."

  Before she could rise, Karr caught her hand and drew her back against him on the couch. "What is it about this place that's so special to you, Maggie?" he asked.

  She'd never heard him sound quite so serious, and the solemn tone of his voice drew the truth from her before she had a chance to wonder if it was wise to tell him. "It's mine," she whispered. "It's the only place I've ever had just for me."

  He was silent, and after a moment Maggie grew edgy. Did he think she sounded like a fool?

  "I don't know where you grew up, or how," she said quietly, "but I'll bet you had a room of your own, with a door you could close when you wanted to be alone. A place where you could sit and think and dream—"

  "And you didn't have that?"

  She shook her head. "Not only didn't I have a room, I never had a bed to myself till I was in college. I had to share with one or the other of my step-sisters. We were so poor that sometimes—but you don't want to hear all that."

  He didn't answer.

  And I don't want to tell you, Maggie thought. I don't want to see pity in your eyes, or shock, or distaste.

  "So that's why I like it here," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "It's just right for me."

  Karr shook his head. "But then why not jump at the chance to have something of your own—a townhouse or a condo that nobody could ever force you to leave?"

  Maggie gave a cynical laugh, remembering how innocently she had believed in that philosophy once. "As if that could ever be guaranteed! And if the value of the property drops in the meantime… No, thanks, Karr. I decided long ago that I'd be better off paying rent than putting all my eggs in one basket like that." She cleared her throat.

  "Excuse me. I really want another cup of tea." She pushed the blanket aside and carried the tea tray to the kitchen.

  The water was boiling by the time Karr said anything at all, and then he only called, "Are you finished with the pizza?"

  Maggie was relieved that he hadn't pursued the subject. "Yes, unless you want the rest."

  He didn't answer, just picked up the pan and brought it to the kitchen.

  She filled the teapot and turned to set it back on the tray. She didn't realize how close Karr was, and she bumped into him, spilling the tea. He caught her by the elbows and steadied her so the hot liquid missed them both.

  "Sorry," she said. "I don't usually run over my guests."

  He didn't chuckle, and he didn't release her. Slowly his hands tightened on her arms, drawing her closer.

  "I don't think—" Maggie began.

  His voice was unsteady. "I don't want to think." He took the teapot out of her hands and set it down, and put his arms around her.

  In the subtle light, his eyes weren't blue any more but almost black. Maggie stared at him, almost hypnotized, until his mouth touched hers with the sudden searing impact of a branding iron. Her eyes fluttered shut then, but it wouldn't have mattered; her sense of sight and sound almost vanished as she concentrated on the taste and feel of him.

  She had never been kissed so thoroughly, so deeply, so completely. Every cell of her body felt the jolt of adrenalin as the power of his touch surged through her, followed by a luxurious lassitude. All she wanted to do was lean against him, to let her body melt into his…

  From somewhere deep inside, she managed to dredge up a last fragment of sense.

  She couldn't push herself away from him; she didn't have enough self-control for that, but she managed to say, against his mouth, "I don't think this is such a wise idea."

  His hand slipped to the back of her neck, his long fingers splayed through her hair, and pulled her closer yet—too close for another protest even if she'd had the breath or the will to formulate it. He kissed her once more, and then said, with a wry note in his voice, "I know. The last thing we need is more complications. But it sure felt good." He held her a little way from him and looked down into her face for a moment that seemed to stretch into forever, and then released her
.

  Tripp whimpered and pawned at Maggie's ankle, and Karr looked down at him, eyebrows raised. "Now there's a miracle," he said. His voice still didn't sound quite right, Maggie thought. "The toupee didn't bite me. Or was I just so carried away I didn't notice? You're right, Maggie—that was very definitely not a wise idea." He ran a gentle finger along her jaw, from the sensitive spot under her ear to the point of her chin. "Stay warm," he whispered, and was gone.

  Maggie sagged against the refrigerator door. Oh, she was warm all right, she thought. It was a wonder she hadn't sizzled into a puddle right there on the kitchen floor.

  A cold spring rain fell all day Tuesday. Maggie spent the morning working, and by early afternoon she'd finished one story and blocked out two more. For a change of pace, she decided to dig through the remaining piles of unsolicited manuscripts on the corner of her desk. Only when she slid the first one back into the return envelope did she realize she had just one form rejection letter left from the supply she'd brought home from the office.

  "An editor without rejection slips is hardly an editor at all," she told Tripp, who had rolled himself up in the kitchen rug. He yawned at her and tucked his chin once more.

  She looked out the window at the rain and sighed. If she waited for the rain to stop, the office supply store—the closest source of a photocopy machine—would be closed. A little dampness wouldn't do her any harm, she supposed, and the fresh air and the walk down the lane would do her good.

  Today she'd have almost welcomed the sight of a black Mercedes coming up the drive, but it didn't appear, and Maggie was well dampened by the time she climbed on the bus. It was raining even harder when she got off and the bottom six inches of her jeans were wet before she reached the office supply store.

  Never had she missed her car so much. Life would be so much easier if she didn't have to depend on public transportation.

  She was still at the copy machine, waiting for it to churn out fifty copies of her letter, when Karr came in, shaking a few drops of water from his raincoat.

  "I thought I saw you splashing across the street," he said.

  Maggie supposed it was inevitable that she'd run into him on this expedition; it was just regrettable he'd showed up too late to keep her from a good soaking. But since she'd been half-expecting him to turn up all along, she told herself there was really no reason for the warm, unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. It had only been a kiss, after all…

  And donkeys fly, too, a little voice in the back of her brain murmured.

  Her gaze seemed magnetically attracted to Karr's mouth, and the unsteadiness inside her grew as she recalled the way he had kissed her last night.

  That was probably why he'd done it, she thought—in order to knock her judgment all awry. If she was wise, she wouldn't let him guess he'd succeeded.

  "I see your radar's still in working order," she murmured. The copy machine whirred and stopped, and she gathered up her copies.

  "Oh, yes. That's never been in doubt." His voice was low and intimate. "You're not having any trouble staying warm, I trust?"

  Maggie was startled for a second, until she realized that he was referring to the boiler. He certainly couldn't know that she felt as if she was going to burst into flame at any moment. "No trouble at all." It took effort to sound calm. "Though as long as we're talking about the house, the water pressure still isn't anything to brag about."

  "Sorry," he said. He didn't sound it. "I can't possibly do anything about that today. And since tomorrow's Wednesday, and you'll be moving, it's hardly worth bothering."

  She stepped up to the register and waited for the cashier to add up her purchases.

  "You'll have to fix the water sometime," she chided, "if you're ever going to rent those apartments again. Why not take care of the problem right now?"

  "Who says I'm going to rent them?" He sounded honestly curious.

  Maggie was too stunned to answer. The cashier had to remind her to take her change; she dropped it heedlessly in the pocket of her trench oat. "Aren't you?" she asked.

  Karr took her arm and guided her easily toward the door. They were outside, under the minimal protection of the awning, before he said, "If I was, Maggie, why would I have gone to so much trouble and expense to get everyone to move out?" His tone was almost gentle, as if he was explaining the obvious to a child. There was none of the banter she'd grown so used to hearing from him, and that scared her.

  "Because the current crop of tenants are hardly the kind you'll be looking for after you renovate the place," she said. "None of us are exactly in the market for upscale housing, after all, and if you only have half as many apartments to rent after the renovation's done."

  It was a case of diminishing returns, she reflected. Why hadn't that occurred to her before? To create the luxurious apartments which would command luxurious rents called for a very expensive renovation. But with fewer tenants to pay the costs, it would be difficult to Karr to recoup the kind of investment that Eagle's Landing needed. It could only pay for itself if he ended up with thirty or forty apartments instead of half a dozen, and the house, huge as it was, didn't have space enough for that…

  But there could be more, she realized. How could she have forgotten that Eagle's Landing wasn't just a building, but a strip of land that would be the perfect setting for another of his long rows of townhouses? If he tore out the trees, filled the lake, paved the ground, there'd be room for a hundred townhouses —or perhaps fifty larger, more elaborate, more expensive ones. No wonder Karr had said something to Dan Montgomery about the demand for upscale housing…

  Maggie's voice was practically a shriek. "You're going to tear it down and build more of those awful little boxes?"

  Karr put his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. "I didn't say I was going to do anything of the sort," he pointed out.

  "You're always very careful not to say anything at all! I suppose next you'll expect me to believe you're going to remodel it and move in yourself!"

  The suggestion seemed to strike his fancy. "Now that's something to consider."

  Maggie was disgusted. "Oh, come on, Karr. The idea of you rattling around in that enormous house playing lord of the manor is utterly ridiculous, and you know it."

  "But you're the one who brought it up," he protested.

  "Where do you live now?"

  "In one of the townhouses. And as a matter of fact I like it just fine there. Which reminds me, we closed deals on three condos and two more townhouses over the weekend, so—"

  "I'm not worried."

  His eyes began to sparkle. "Oh, neither am I, any more. But perhaps I should warn you, darling—at the rate they're going, if you wait much longer your only option will be to move in with me."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Karr offered her a ride, but Maggie—still in shock at the idea that Eagle's Landing would soon be nothing more than a heap of broken brick and slate—didn't think she could rely on will power to keep her silence on the subject. And she knew better than to tear into him before she'd had a chance to think; Karr had had time to consider every angle, and he would have no trouble countering any argument she might make. No, it would be far better to consider her options and sort out a plan of attack before she acted.

  That she would do something about the problem wasn't in question. Suddenly the whole affair had become more than a matter of her own inconvenience, and she couldn't square it with her conscience to simply stand by. Eagle's Landing might have a worn-out roof, falling chimneys, an unreliable boiler, and peeling paint, but that didn't mean it deserved to be crumbled into dust and replaced with a row of townhouses.

  The thought of townhouses reminded her of Libby, who'd probably be every bit as upset as Maggie was over this. Perhaps she'd have some ideas.

  Maggie stopped at the florist shop on the corner and walked up to Karr's townhouse development.

  She couldn't remember if Libby had ever mentioned her new house having a number, and the long row of almost-id
entical front doors was a daunting sight. There was a mailbox beside every door—but was she really going to have to climb the three steps to each infinitesimal front porch and read the label on every box till she found the Montgomery’s? And what if Libby and Dan hadn't yet gotten round to putting their name on the mailbox?

  The rain was growing heavier, which made it even harder to see. Maggie tucked her cellophane-wrapped sheaf of flowers under the edge of her raincoat and started trudging down the row of houses. First she passed a garage, set back from the street at the end of a drive, then the impersonal front of a house—with a teal green front door and "Adams" on the mailbox—then another garage, and another house…

  Near the third front door was a small but highly visible sign marking it as the sales office, and Maggie hesitated only a second before she went in. On her own, she'd be all night finding Libby. She needed all the help she could get.

  A well-dressed brunette looked up from a desk just inside the front door with a friendly smile. "May I help you?"

  "I'm looking for a resident—"

  Karr came down the stairs, wearing his raincoat. "Well, hello, Maggie. Did you turn down a ride because you didn't want to tell me you were coming here? Can I show you around, or would you rather look on your own?"

  I should have known he'd be back in the office by now, Maggie thought. If that wasn't just her luck! "Oh, I'm only interested in one model—the Wakefield, I think it is."

  Wasn't that the one he'd said was sold out?

  Karr didn't miss a beat. "We'll be building more of those soon."

  At Eagle's Landing, of course. Maggie had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping at him.

  "And I'll happily put your name on the waiting list. But if you need alternative housing in the meantime, the offer I made is still open." His voice was almost a caress.

  The receptionist turned to Karr with a puzzled look, obviously wondering what he was up to, and Maggie felt warm color washing over her face. What was the matter with her, she wondered irritably. The first time he'd made the idiotic suggestion that she move in with him, she'd ignored it—but of course, that hadn't been in front of his employees.