by Nora Roberts
“Yes. No,” he corrected. “Because I wasn’t paying—”
“Ah, there. You are capable of saying no. Let me tell you something, O’Connell.” She punctuated the words by stabbing a finger into his chest. “I don’t sleep around.”
“Well, who the hell said you did?”
“When I’m with a man, I’m with that man. Period. If he is unable or unwilling to agree to do the same, I expect him to be honest enough to say so.”
“I haven’t—”
“And, I am not an excuse to be pulled out of the bag when you’re scrambling to avoid a favor for a friend. So don’t think you can ever use me that way, and with your pitiful, fumbling ‘sort ofs.’ And since it appears we aren’t dating, you’re perfectly free to call Jerry’s sister or anyone else.”
“Damn it, which is it? Are you going to be pissed off because I brush Jerry off, or pissed off because I don’t?”
Her hands curled into fists. Punching him, she decided, would only give him delusions of grandeur. “Jerk.” She bit the single word off, turned on her heel and, tossing something in Ukrainian over her shoulder, strode out of the room.
“Females,” Brody muttered. He kicked his toolbox, and was only moderately satisfied by the clang.
An hour later, the cabinets were in place and Brody was at work on the pantry. He’d already run through the scene with Kate a half a dozen times, but with each play, he’d remembered things he should have said. Short, pithy statements that would have turned the tide in his favor. And the first chance he got, he was going to burn her ears with them.
He was not going to grovel, he told himself as he nailed in the brackets for a shelf. He had nothing to apologize for. Women, he decided, were just one of the many reasons a man was better off going through his life solo.
If he was such a jerk, why’d she bother to spend any time with him in the first place?
He backed out of the closet, turned and nearly ran right into Spencer Kimball.
“What is it with people?” Brody demanded.
“Sorry. I didn’t think you could hear me with all the noise.”
“I’m going to post signs.” Brody stalked over to select one of the shelves he’d precut and sealed. “No suits, no ties, no females.”
Spencer’s eyebrows lifted. In all the months he’d known Brody, this was the first time he’d heard him anything but calm. “I take it I’m not the first interruption of the day.”
“Not by a long shot.” Brody tested the shelf. It slid smoothly into its slot. At least something was going right today, he thought. “If this is about the kitchen design for your place, once you approve it, I’ll order materials. We’ll be able to start in a couple of weeks.”
“Actually, I’m staying out of that one. Tash has gotten very territorial over this kitchen deal. I just came by to see the progress here. The considerable progress.”
“Yeah, moving right the hell along.” Brody snatched up another shelf, then stopped, let out a breath. “Sorry. Bad day.”
“Must be going around.” And explained, Spencer decided, why his daughter was in a prickly mood. “Kate’s downstairs setting up her office.”
“Oh.” Brody carted his shelves into the pantry, began to set them. Very deliberately. “I didn’t realize she was still here.”
“Furniture she ordered just came in. I didn’t get much of a welcome from her, either. So, putting the evidence together, I conclude the two of you had an argument.”
“It’s not an argument when somebody jumps down somebody else’s throat for no good reason. It’s an attack.”
“Mmm-hmm. At the risk of poking my nose in, I can tell you the women in my family always have what they consider a good reason for jumping down a man’s throat. Of course, whether or not it actually is a good reason is debatable.”
“Which is why women are just too much damn trouble.”
“Tough doing without them, though, isn’t it?”
“I was getting along. Jack and I were doing just fine.” Frustration pumped off him as he turned back to Spencer. “What is it with women anyway, that they have to complicate things, then make you feel like an idiot?”
“Son, generations of men have pondered that question. There’s only one answer. Because.”
With a half laugh, Brody stepped back again, automatically eyeballing the shelves for level and fit. “I guess that’s as good as it gets. Doesn’t matter much at this point anyway. She dumped me.”
“You don’t strike me as a man who typically walks away from a problem.”
“Nothing typical about your daughter.” As soon as it was out, Brody winced. “Sorry.”
“I took that as a compliment. My impression is the two of you bruised each other’s feelings, maybe each other’s pride. An insider tip? Kate’s usual response to bruised feelings or pride is temper, followed by ice.”
Brody dug out the hooks to be used in the pantry. He should leave that job for a laborer, he thought. But he needed to do something simple with his hands. “She made herself pretty clear. She called me a jerk—then something in Russian. Ukrainian. Whatever.”
“She spit at you in Ukrainian?” Spence struggled to conceal his amusement. “She’d have to have been pretty worked up for that.”
Brody’s eyes narrowed as he hefted his screwdriver. “I don’t know what it meant, but I didn’t like the sound of it.”
“It might have been something about you roasting on a spit over Hell fire. Her mother likes to use that one. Brody, do you have feelings for my daughter?”
Brody’s palms went instantly damp. “Mr. Kimball—”
“Spence. I know it’s not a simple question, or an easy one. But I’d like an answer.”
“Would you mind stepping away from the toolbox first? There are a lot of sharp implements in there.”
Spencer slid his hands into his pockets. “You have my word I won’t challenge you to a duel with screwdrivers.”
“Okay. I have feelings for Kate. They’re kind of murky and unsettled, but I have them. I didn’t intend to get involved with her. I’m not in a position to.”
“Can I ask why?”
“That’s pretty obvious—I’m a single father. I’m putting together a decent life for my son, but it’s nothing like what Kate’s used to, or what she can have.”
Spencer rocked back on his heels. “They gave you a bad time, didn’t they?”
“Excuse me?”
“Unlike some families, ours can be nosy, interfering, protective and irritating. But you’ll also find we respect and support each other’s choices and feelings. Brody, it’s a mistake to judge one situation by the dynamics of another.” Spencer paused for a moment, then continued, “But putting that aside for the moment, since you care about Kate, let me give you some unsolicited advice. Whether you want to take it or not is up to you. Deal with the problem. Deal with her. If you didn’t matter to her, she’d have ended things gently, or worse, politely.”
Deciding he’d given Brody enough to think about, Spencer turned to take a survey of the total construction chaos of the kitchen. “So this is what I’ve got to look forward to.” He shot Brody a miserable look. “And you think you have problems.”
When Spencer left him alone, Brody stood, tapping the screwdriver on his palm. The man was advising him to fight with his daughter. What kind of a screwy family was that?
His own parents never fought. Of course, that was because his father set the rules, and those rules were followed. Or at least it seemed that way.
He’d never fought with Connie. Not really. They’d had some disagreements, sure, but they’d just worked through them, or talked them out. Or ignored them, Brody admitted. Ignored them, he thought, because they’d both been cut off, isolated, and they only had each other to rely on.
Temper had never gotten him anywhere but in trouble. With his father, in school, in the early days on the job. He’d learned to rein it in, to use his head instead of his gut. Most of the time, he admitted, think
ing about his last altercation with his father.
Still, maybe it was a mistake to compare what had been with what was. One thing was certain, he wasn’t going to get rid of this nasty sensation in his gut until he spoke his mind.
He checked his men first, ran over some minor adjustments and the basic plan for the following day. It was nearly time to knock off, so he cut them loose. He didn’t want an audience.
Kate hit the nail squarely on the head and bared her teeth in satisfaction. Brody O’Connell, the pig, wasn’t the only one who could use a hammer.
She’d spent the last two hours meticulously setting up her office. Everything would be perfect when she was finished. She wouldn’t settle for anything less.
Her desk was precisely where she wanted it, and its drawers already organized with the brochures she’d designed and ordered, her letterhead, the application forms for students.
Her filing cabinet was the same golden oak. In time, she expected the folders inside to be full.
She’d found the rug at an antique sale, and its faded pattern of cabbage roses set off the pale green walls, picked up the tone in the fabric of the accent chairs that now faced her desk.
Just because it was an office didn’t mean it couldn’t have style.
She hung yet another of the framed black-and-white photos she’d chosen. Stood back and nodded with approval. Dancers at the barre, in rehearsal, onstage, backstage. Young students at recitals, lacing on toe shoes.
Sweating, sparkling, limp from exertion or flying. All the aspects of a dancer’s world. They would remind her, on a daily basis, what she had done. And what she was doing.
She picked up another nail, set it neatly on her mark, slammed it. And what she wasn’t doing, she thought, rapping it a second time, was wasting her time on Brody O’Connell.
The bastard.
Let him cozy up to Tiffany. Oh, she remembered Tiffany Skully. The busty bleached blonde had been a year ahead of her in high school. Lots of giggling. Lots of lipstick. Well, let the jerk take her out. What did she care?
She was done with him.
“If you’d told me you were going to cover the entire space with pictures,” Brody commented, “I wouldn’t have worked so hard on finishing the drywall. Nobody’d know the difference.”
She jammed the photograph in place, picked up another nail. “One assumes you have a certain pride in your work, whether or not it can be admired. And since I paid for the wall, I’ll do whatever the hell I like with it.”
“Yeah, you want to riddle them with nail holes, it’s your choice.” The pictures looked great—not that he was going to say so. Not just the arrangement of them, which was cohesive without being rigid, but the theme.
He could see her in several of them, as a child, a young girl, a woman. One of her sitting cross-legged on the floor, pounding shoes with a hammer, made him want to grin.
Instead he waved a finger toward it, casually. “I thought you were supposed to dance with those.”
“For your information toe shoes need to be broken in. That’s one method of doing so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get my office finished. I have appointments here tomorrow afternoon.”
“Then that gives you plenty of time.” Particularly, he thought, since the office already looked perfect. He should have known she’d make it perfect.
“Let me put it this way.” She pounded in another nail. “I’m busy, and I have no desire to talk to you. I’m not paying you to stand around and chat in any case.”
“Don’t pull that on me.” He yanked the hammer out of her hand. “You writing checks for the job doesn’t have anything to do with the rest of it. I’ll be damned if you’ll put it on that level.”
He was right, of course, and it shamed her to have it pointed out. “True enough, but our personal business is done.”
“The hell it is.” He turned and shoved the pocket door closed.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting some privacy. It doesn’t seem to be in big supply around here.”
“Open that door—then walk through it. And keep walking.”
“Sit down and shut up.”
Her eyes widened, more in shock than temper. “I beg your pardon?”
To solve the problem, he set the hammer aside—well out of her reach—walked over and pushed her into a chair. “Now listen.”
She started to leap up, was pushed down firmly again. Temper heated, but it stayed at the bubble from the sheer surprise of seeing him so furious. “So, you’ve proved you’re big and strong,” she said derisively. “You don’t have to prove you’re stupid.”
“And you don’t have to prove you’re spoiled and snotty. You try to get up again before I’m done, I’m going to tie you in that chair. I was minding my own business when Jerry came in. He’s a friend. He and Beth have gone out of their way for me and Jack, so I owe him.”
“So naturally you need to pay him back by dating his sister.”
“Be quiet, Kate. I’m not dating his sister. I don’t intend to date his sister. He was running off at the mouth, and I was shimming cabinets. I wasn’t listening to him, and by the time I tuned back in…”
Brody raked a hand through his hair, took a restless turn around the room. “He caught me off guard, and I was trying to backtrack without stomping all over his feelings. He and Tiff have always been tight. He’s worried about her, I guess, and he trusts me. What was I supposed to say? I’m not interested in your sister?”
Kate angled her chin. “Yes. But that’s not really the point.”
“Then what the hell is the point?”
“The point is you indicated, and obviously feel, there’s nothing between us but sex. I require more than that in a relationship. I demand more than that. Loyalty, fidelity, affection, respect. I expect a man to be able to say—without tripping over his own clumsy tongue—that he and I are dating. That he cares about me.”
“Damn it, it’s been nearly ten years since I dated anyone. You’d think you could cut me some slack.”
“Then you think wrong. Are we done here?”
“Man, you’re a hard case. No, we’re not done.” He yanked her to her feet. “I haven’t been with anyone else since you. I don’t want to be. I’ll make a point of making that crystal clear to Jerry or anyone else. I care about you, and I don’t appreciate being made to feel like an idiot because I don’t have a good handle on it.”
“Fine. Now let go.”
“If I could let go, I wouldn’t be standing here wanting to strangle you.”
“You insulted me. You insulted us. You’re the one who should be strangled.”
“I’m not going to apologize again.” He dragged her toward the door.
“Apologize? I didn’t hear any apology. What are you doing?”
“Just be quiet,” he ordered as he shoved the door open, continued to pull her down the corridor.
“If you don’t let go of me, this minute, I’m going to—”
The wind was knocked out of her when he simply hauled her up and over his shoulder. He clamped her legs still with one arm, yanked open the front door with his free hand.
“Have you lost your mind?” Too shocked to struggle, she shoved her hair up out of her face as he strode with her across the porch and down the front steps. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
“The minute I started thinking about you.” He scanned the street, spotted a woman coming out of the apartment building. “Excuse me! Ma’am?”
She glanced over, blinked. “Ah…yes?”
“This is Kate. I’m Brody. I just wanted you to know that we’re dating.”
“Oh, my God,” Kate whispered, and let her hair fall again.
“I see. Well…” The woman smiled, offered a little wave. “That’s nice.”
“Thanks.” Brody shifted Kate, set her on her feet in front of him. “Would you like to keep going, or are you satisfied?”
She couldn’t get the words out o
f her mouth. Simply couldn’t shove them from where they seemed to be stuck in her throat. She solved the problem by rapping a fist against his chest and storming back into the building.
“Guess not,” Brody decided, and strode in after her.
Chapter Nine
He caught her an instant before she could slam her office door in his face. Not that it would have stopped him now that he was revved up.
“Not so fast, honey.”
“Don’t you call me honey. Don’t you speak to me.” She rounded on him. “You’re nothing but a bully. Manhandling me that way. Embarrassing me on the street.”
“Embarrassed?” He kept his eyes, every bit as hot as hers, level as he slid the door closed behind his back. “Why is that? I simply told a neighbor, without tripping over my—what was it—clumsy tongue, that we’re dating. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is…” She retreated several steps as he advanced on her. That was another shocker—not just that he was backing her into a corner, but that she was letting him. She’d never backed down from a confrontation, and certainly never backed down from a man. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“Being myself.” Damned if it didn’t feel good. “Been a while since I cut loose like this, but it’s coming back to me. We may as well find out now if you have a problem with that.”
“If you think you can—” She broke off as he grabbed her arms, pulled her up to her toes. “You’d just better calm down.”
“You’d just better catch up.” He crushed his mouth to hers and felt her instinctive jerk of protest. Ignored it.
“You got a problem with it?” he demanded lifting his head and meeting her eyes.
“Brody—” That was all she managed to say before he took her mouth over again.
“Yes or no.”
“I don’t—” His teeth scraped along her neck. “Oh God.” She couldn’t think. This had to be wrong. There had to be a dozen, two dozen, rational reasons why this was wrong.