“This house gives me the creeps after dark,” he said, looking around the dim front hall with a shiver. “And the store does, too, when only the security lights are on. All those beady eyes staring at me.” He put his arms around her. “I’ll call you next week. Maybe I’ll have some time.”
His kiss was pleasant, but it started no flickering fires in her veins and sent no shock waves along her nerves.
You can’t have it both ways, Clancey, she told herself as she waved goodbye to him. She closed the front door and leaned against it for a moment. If just once in her life she had kissed Hank with real enthusiasm, who knew what might have happened? But they didn’t have that type of relationship. They were friends. And it was too late now.
Because it was Rowan, and only Rowan, that she wanted.
She put her fingertips to her temples, trying to still the sudden ache that pounded there — the ache of certainty. When she’d told herself earlier today that having Rowan hanging around all the time would be bearable, she had been lying to herself. Seeing him regularly wouldn’t be a trial but a treat, and she’d known that even then, in the secret corners of her mind. That was probably why she’d signed the lease. It wasn’t because she wanted to see the changes in the house; she’d wanted to see Rowan.
Idiot, she told herself. And just what did she plan to do about it now? Run away? Throw herself at him?
To do either was sheer foolishness, that was certain, but even the less-drastic, in-between alternatives didn’t sound much better. Christmas was still two months off. Avoiding him was impossible, short of simply locking the doors of her business and walking away—and that was out of the question, of course.
But if she made any sort of attempt to attract him, he couldn’t possibly take her seriously. There was the lease, and the fact that she had signed it only under duress. He wouldn’t forget how much she wanted to stay in this house, and how much her business depended on it. And he would assume — any man of sense would — that she was acting on those motives, and not for personal ones.
And what then? He would either play along, for his own unknown reasons, or cut her short. Either outcome would be unbearable.
Not only her head was hurting now, but her ears and her feet, as well. Clancey yanked the heavy gold disks from her earlobes, then kicked off her shoes and stooped to pick them up. She was considering throwing them at the mantel, just in case it might help relieve her frustration, when a voice came out of the darkness at the top of the stairs.
“Was that long sigh one of gratitude or disappointment?”
She spun around, mouth open, clutching her shoes to her chest. “What?”
Rowan came down to the landing and leaned against the newel post. “Because Hank left, I mean. Are you glad or sad?”
She swallowed hard. “I can’t see that it’s any of your business.”
“Oh, it’s not,” he admitted cheerfully. “Mere idle curiosity. I didn’t mean to watch, you understand, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate it if I spoke up earlier, while he was kissing you.”
Clancey raised her chin. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to compliment your tact, Rowan.”
He smiled a little and came on down the stairs into the soft glow of Small World’s security lighting. “And I didn’t think I’d better leave it till later, either. If you ran into something solid on the stairs in the dark, you might not have stopped running till you got to Texas.”
“That’s about the truth. What are you doing here, anyway?”
Rowan shrugged. “Since I couldn’t play gin rummy by myself, I decided to take a look at the rest of the wiring.”
“In the dark?” Clancey hoped that her voice held the right shade of incredulity and cynicism. It was certainly better than sounding awed and delighted that he would stick around and wait for her to come home from her date.
“Of course not. I took a break a while ago and fell asleep watching television. Did you know that there’s something about your couch that induces unconsciousness?”
“You seem to be the only man who’s ever experienced the problem.”
Rowan started to smile. “Am I? That’s certainly interesting. Of course, if I’d had your company and your help in staying awake...”
Clancey felt hot, embarrassed color sweeping up almost from her toes, and tried frantically to change the subject. “I didn’t see your car anywhere.”
“It’s around behind the house. I didn’t think there was any sense in causing talk.”
“Trying to hide it will cause more.”
The prospect didn’t seem to bother him. “Well, at least this way it didn’t cause you any trouble with Hank.”
And seeing Hank kissing me obviously didn’t cause you any trouble, either, Clancey thought. She said, a little more sharply than she’d intended, “It’s none of your business whom I kiss good-night, Rowan.”
“Certainly not,” he said mildly.
Well, she hadn’t expected anything different, had she? She mocked herself a little for even entertaining the idea of Rowan becoming passionately angry because she’d kissed another man. Rowan, furious because someone else had held her in his arms. Rowan, jealous because she’d smiled at a man who wasn’t him—
“Do you hand out a lot of good-night kisses?” Rowan asked.
He sounded as if he was taking a sociological survey, Clancey thought, with no personal interest at all in the answer.
She was suddenly so tired that she wasn’t sure she could hold up her head for another minute. “Go home, Rowan,” she ordered, and turned toward the staircase without waiting to see if he obeyed. “Dammit,” she muttered under her breath as she climbed the first stair.
“Because if you do,” he said from directly behind her, “Id like to put in my application for one.”
Clancey spun about. Her stocking-clad feet slid wildly on the worn old wood, and Rowan’s arm came around her to hold her steady. Standing one step above him put her eyes directly on a level with his, but despite that, in the dim light that spilled over from the parlor, his face was too shadowed for her to see if there was mischief there, or not.
“You’ve still got the house key I gave you so you could lock up tonight,” she said, almost at random.
“So I do.” Now that she had her balance again, his fingers spread firmly across the small of her back, urging her down from the stair.
“I’d like it back.” It was either step down or be pulled completely off her feet. Clancey decided to preserve her dignity, and descended.
“We’ll talk about it,” he muttered.
But talking was obviously not what he had in mind. And within a couple of minutes, even if Clancey had remembered the key, she couldn’t have formed a coherent request for it. His back was against the paneled wall at the foot of the stairs, and Clancey, off-balance and out of her depth, was leaning against him, pressed so close that every move, even each breath he took, was a sensual assault.
And by the time he released her, with a final gentle kiss, and let himself out the door, all she could do was sag onto the bottom stair and stare into the darkness.
If he had pushed just a little farther, she would have allowed him to take her upstairs to bed.
No, she admitted to herself. That wasn’t quite true; it wouldn’t have taken a push at all. If she could have managed to form the words, she would have invited him upstairs.
What in heaven’s name was happening to her?
*****
Rowan didn’t return the key. But the next time she asked for it he solemnly promised that, like any conscientious landlord, he would knock before entering. With that, Clancey supposed she would have to be satisfied. It wasn’t as if she anticipated waking in the middle of the night to find a mad rapist in her bed. If Rowan had wanted to make love to her, he knew how to manage it without any such show of force. She’d practically handed him a guidebook.
The cold, harsh fact was that he obviously didn’t want to make love to her, or he’d have turned
their incredible good-night kiss into something else altogether.
But that knowledge didn’t stop the physical reaction she suffered every time she saw him — the absurd lift of the heart, the breathless crush in her chest, the whistling sensation in her ears that was like the time she’d almost fainted. And she saw him often. He came nearly every evening and spent hours scraping wallpaper in one of the bedrooms upstairs.
When he appeared in the kitchen on Halloween, just as the store was about to close, she had to forcibly subdue the urge to run across the room and fling herself against him. He looked so good, and so comfortable, and so inviting...
“You’re earlier than usual,” she said, and turned back to the box she’d been rummaging through. It was full of miscellaneous old stock that had simply been dumped together in the move, and treasures were nestling next to junk.
“Not really. It’s already dark.” He glanced at the coffeepot, which was just finishing its cycle, and came across to her. “What are you doing?” His hands came to rest gently on her shoulders.
She managed to conceal the thrill of anticipation that ran through her. “Looking for little toys and prizes to give to the neighborhood kids tonight when they come around trick or treating.”
“I don’t suppose you believe in giving them candy?”
“Darned right I don’t. They’ll get plenty of that as it is.” She tossed a couple of small windup cars into the basket at her elbow.
“Mind if I stick around for the fun?”
She craned her neck to look at him, half surprised that he would even be interested.
“Well, there isn’t much excitement on ghosts-and-goblins night in a high-rise apartment building,” he said. “I’ve kind of gotten out of the habit, but it might be fun, with you.”
It was a careless comment, but the idea of him wanting to share this one small thing with her made her start to glow, deep inside. In fact, the effect couldn’t have been much more powerful if it had been a round-the-world cruise he was talking about instead of a couple of hours spent admiring small children who had dressed up in costumes to beg for treats.
It took every bit of self-control she had, but Clancey somehow kept her voice steady. “Sure. You can stay. You’re right, you know. It’s a lot more fun when you have someone to share it with.”
He smiled a little, and he was rubbing his chin against her hair when Eileen poked her head around the corner of the door. Her eyes widened, but all she said was, “I’ve locked up, Clancey. Is there anything else before I go home?”
Rowan greeted her genially, let his hands slip slowly from Clancey’s shoulders, poured himself a cup of coffee and started up the back stairs toward the waiting wallpaper.
“Not a thing,” Clancey managed to say.
“Then I’ll see you in the morning.” Eileen paused while she was putting on her jacket. “What was he doing, anyway? Making sure you don’t wear a toupee? It’s no wonder he’s not making much progress upstairs, is it?”
Clancey shrugged. “Well, he can’t do much with all my stuff in the way. I certainly wouldn’t appreciate it if he took the wallpaper off the ceiling right above my new television, you know.”
Eileen looked at her for a long time, and said mildly, “Boy, have you got it bad.”
Clancey didn’t even hear the door close. She was too deeply immersed in the wave of knowledge that had poured over her like a cold shower. Yes, she admitted. She did, indeed, have it bad.
She was physically attracted to him, there was no denying that. It was such a powerful attraction it practically robbed her of good sense. But she was no longer able to hide behind the conviction that physical attraction was all she felt.
The highlight of each day was now the moment he first appeared. The bright spot of her whole week was in knowing he’d be beside her tonight as she handed out these toys. Such feelings had very little to do with physical attraction.
Even if she never saw him again, never was close enough to touch him, still his well-being would remain in the front of her mind. It would be the thing she wished and prayed for. And she’d never entirely lose the electrical thrill that coursed through her every time she thought of him, whether he was anywhere nearby or not.
For that thrill wasn’t born of physical attraction, nor even of overwhelming desire. It had come with loving him.
CHAPTER NINE
She was in love with Rowan McKenna.
Once that underlying truth was no longer deniable, Clancey’s mind began to revolve with helpless questions. Exactly when had she let herself slip over the brink? In what moment had annoyance turned to attraction, and attraction mushroomed into love? On which day had Rowan become so incredibly important to her that now the mere thought of losing him was enough to make her throat go dry and her heart twist in pain?
The mere thought of losing him, she mused. As if one could lose what one had never possessed.
And what difference would it make, even if she could figure out precisely when it had happened? It couldn’t be changed now.
But she found herself going back over it anyway, remembering how she had felt the first time he’d held her, outside her bedroom door the night the ceiling fell and she’d collapsed into his arms. She’d been seeking only comfort, or so she’d thought. But had she truly wanted something more than that, even then?
Afterward, guilt had overwhelmed her, for then she’d believed he was married. She’d told herself she was worried he’d get the wrong impression and think she was flinging herself at him. But might it actually have been something else she was feeling guilty about?
The subconscious knowledge that, married or not, she was very much attracted to him?
Or had it happened even before that — on that night they’d gone for a walk together and negotiated a compromise on the house?
Rowan didn’t have to compromise, she reminded herself, but he had given her a break, put her needs ahead of his own wishes — even his own rights. Of course her heart had been touched, but had it been at that moment when she began to fall in love with him?
It had started before the grand opening. She was reasonably sure of that, once she started looking honestly into her heart. For when Kaye McKenna had first come into the store, Clancey’s instantaneous reaction had been confusion, an awkward mixture of liking the woman and at the same moment wishing she didn’t. Half of her had been pleased at Kaye’s thoughtful refusal to cause trouble, the other half had been childishly hoping the woman would commit some terrible social blunder so there would be a logical excuse for disliking her.
The quandary had puzzled Clancey even then, and only now was it clear. She’d been happy that, if Rowan had to be married, at least his wife was a lovely person. And at precisely the same time she’d been frustrated and jealous over that very fact...
“What a schizophrenic reaction,” she muttered to herself. “You’re a case for the men in the white jackets, Clancey Kincade.”
And then there was Kaye’s baby, and the way that oblivious infant had seized Clancey’s attention. For the first few days — until she had found out he wasn’t Rowan’s after all — that child had never been far from Clancey’s thoughts. Had she been reminding herself that if it was stupid to become attracted to a married man, then it was criminal to play games with one who had not only a wife but a child?
Or had she been dreaming of how it could have been if that child was not only Rowan’s, but hers as well?
*****
The last goblin of Halloween, a makeshift ghost who looked a bit old for the part, selected one of the curlicue turtle straws from Clancey’s basket just as the clock struck eight and trick-or-treat time officially ended. “Hey, that’s terrific,” he said, holding it up for inspection. “Can I have another one?” There was a suspiciously adolescent crack in his voice.
Clancey laughed. “One to a customer, I’m afraid. Come back next year.” She bit her tongue hard as the ghost slithered off down the sidewalk, and said over her shoulder to Rowan,
“I’m sorry. That invitation just slipped out.” She didn’t look at him.
“I wouldn’t worry.” His tone was casual. “By next Halloween he’ll have forgotten all about it.”
And what about you, Rowan? she wanted to ask. Will you have forgotten all about it — and me?
He eyed the substantial white blob as it drifted down the street and added, “In fact, he’ll probably be off to college by then.”
Clancey forced herself to smile. “There are always a few who are pushing the age limits.”
“Pushing? I’d say he’s giving them a knockout punch. Doesn’t it bother you, the idea of opening your door to complete strangers wearing costumes, some of whom are taller than you?”
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