by Sandra Brown
She made a high, squeaking sound as she glanced down at herself. He had
accurately described her. She had dashed out of her bedroom without
remembering to slip on a robe.
Her bare feet virtually flew over the terrace as she beat a hasty retreat through the
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back door. His low, gruff laughter followed her inside.
Chapter 4
If he was going to strut around her house – correction, his house – he could at
least wear a shirt, Laura thought sourly as she glanced through the kitchen
window while she prepared breakfast.
This was the second morning she had awakened to discover James Paden,
despoiler of good reputations and carouser extraordinaire, already hard at work
on 22 Indigo Place. This morning he was working on the pier that stretched out
over the waters of the sound.
Granted, he was attending to things she had had no choice but to overlook, but
she resented both his ability to finance the repairs and his ownership of the house,
which gave him the right to parade around the place looking any way he liked.
And right now he looked hot and sweaty and damned appealing as he came
swaggering across the terrace toward the very door she was surreptitiously
peeping through. Laura stepped back out of sight and gave herself a count of ten
before she opened the door to his knock.
"Hi."
"Hi." Her response was considerably less cheerful than his. She had taken the
time to dress today before she came downstairs, not wanting to be caught in her
nightie again. Her jeans were old, her shirt baggy. She had her hair tied up in a
scarf.
"Sleep well?" His smile was as pleasant as his tone was polite. Only his eyes gave
him away as a maverick. Boldly and without apology, they ranged down her body.
"Yes, fine. Did you need something?"
"A glass of ice water, please. I intended to bring a thermos with me, but forgot it."
None too hospitably she got him the requested drink of ice water. "Thanks.
Something sure smells good," he said as he took the glass from her. He quaffed
the cold water.
"Bacon. I think it's burning." She rushed to the stove, turned off the burner, and
lifted the crisp bacon from the skillet with a pair of tongs.
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"I didn't take time to eat this morning," James said wistfully from the doorway.
Laura ground her teeth, knowing that he was fishing for an invitation to breakfast.
"Guess I'll have to run into town later and pick up a doughnut. 'Course, it'll
probably be stale by the time I get there. They start making them about four—"
"Oh, please." She groaned, turning around. "How do you like your eggs?"
He grinned broadly and pulled on the shirt he had kept dangling in his hand. "I
thought you'd never ask. And I'll eat eggs any way you want to cook them."
"There's orange juice in the fridge. Help yourself." Her hands were trembling as
she cracked additional eggs into the bowl. A piece of shell fell in and she had to
pick the elusive, slippery little demon out with the tip of a finger. She mercilessly
whipped the eggs to a froth, taking out her agitation on them.
At least he had pulled on his shirt. Earlier, from her hiding place behind the
curtain on the kitchen window, she had watched the sun baking his tan even
deeper as he bent over the boards he was replacing on the pier. His back was a
smooth expanse of supple muscles and bronzed skin.
Glancing at him now, she noticed that he had left most of the buttons on his shirt
undone. His chest was more mouth-watering than the tantalizing breakfast
smells. It was fantasy-inspiring – hard muscles and lots of soft, curly brown hair a
woman's fingers could get lost in.
He had probably worn the old, soft jeans just to aggravate her, Laura thought.
They were smeared with grease and paint, threadbare in spots, and indecently
snug. His navel was plainly visible above the waistband that rode low on his hips.
She didn't even want to think of anything below his waist.
"Do you like them firm?"
Laura dropped her spatula. "What?"
"Scrambled eggs. I don't like them soft."
"Oh, yes, firm. Firm is fine."
Without her having to ask, he passed her two plates and she filled them with the
hot, fluffy eggs she had been distractedly stirring around the skillet.
Once everything had been put on the table and coffee poured, they sat down and
began eating. "This is good," James mumbled around a bite.
"Thank you. I got in the habit of cooking breakfast for my father every morning
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before Gladys arrived for work."
"Anybody else?" She looked up inquiringly. "Did you ever cook breakfast for any
other man?" He took a sip of coffee.
"My private life is none of your concern, Mr. Paden, as I've mentioned on
numerous occasions."
"You cook good. You look good." He assessed her with insolent green eyes. "You'd
make some man a good wife."
"Thank you."
"Why didn't you ever get married?"
"Why didn't you?"
"Who said I didn't?"
She glanced up at him quickly. "Are you married?"
"No."
Laura tried not to let her relief show. Why she should care about his marital status
she couldn't imagine, other than the idea of kissing a married man appalled her.
Of course he had kissed her, not the other way around. Still, hard as it was to
admit even to herself, she liked the idea that he was single.
"But we're not talking about me. We're talking about you," he said. "Tell me why a
pretty girl like you never got married."
"I'm a woman," she said starchily. "And I didn't want to get married."
"Hmm. You liked playing the field."
"Something like that," she said dismissively. "More toast?"
"Forgive me, but I just don't see you as the party-girl type."
"Woman," she repeated, stressing the word. "And can we please talk about
something besides my love life?"
"Sure," he said, smiling wickedly. "Wanna talk about mine?"
"No!"
He laughed at her emphatic answer. To cover her irritation, she carried their
empty dishes to the sink. "If you'll excuse me now, I've got a lot to do."
"Why not take the day off?"
"Take the day off?" He came to stand beside her at the sink, and she looked up at
him with incredulity. "I can't. There are a million things I need to do."
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"Why don't you come out to the pier and keep me company?" He tucked a strand
of hair back into her scarf, then ran his finger down her cheek.
"Sit on that hot pier all day just to watch you work? No, thanks."
"You can sunbathe. And since turnabout's fair play, I'll watch you sunbathe." The
/>
tip of his finger batted at her earlobe.
"I don't think so."
"Or you could swim. Then, when I get finished, I could join you in the water.
Doesn't that sound like fun?"
It sounded dangerous. Any woman with a grain of sense would do better to wear a
suit of armor around him than a swimsuit. "I told you I've got work to do. Are you
going to make a pest of yourself for the next thirty days?"
"Twenty-nine."
She shrugged off his hand and turned away, angry over his cruel reminder that in
less than a month she would have to leave her home forever.
"Hey, I'm sorry," he said, catching her by the shoulders and turning her around. "I
shouldn't have said that. It wasn't kind."
Her shoulders slumped in dejection and the fight went out of her. "You might just
as well speak of it. There's no getting around it."
They stared at each other for a moment. His eyes moved to the top of her head.
"Why the scarf? What kind of work are you doing today?"
"I need to inventory the furnishings for auction."
"Auction?" She nodded grimly. "Everything?"
"Almost. I might keep a few of the pieces I cherish most, but I'm going to liquidate
as much as I can."
He muttered something under his breath as he turned away. Laura thought she
heard him speak her father's name and an obscenity, but she didn't quite catch
the conjunction between them.
James left the kitchen. Puzzled, Laura followed him out through the dining room,
and found him standing in the entrance hall, gazing into the parlor. His hands
were propped on his hips and he was gnawing on his lower lip.
"Say, listen," he said, turning around abruptly, "instead of holding an auction,
why not let me buy everything?"
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"I…" For a moment she was at a loss for words. "You never asked about the
furniture."
"I'm asking now. I should've thought of it before. Where would I find furniture
better suited to the house than what's already here? Even if I could, it would take
a helluva lot of time and trouble. At the end of it, I'd still have second best."
"That's true, only—"
"I'd give you a fair price. We'll itemize the pieces if you want to."
Laura knew from having discussed it with the lawyer that she would make more
money selling the furnishings item by item at auction rather than making a
blanket sale to one buyer. "All right," she said, spontaneously making up her
mind. She'd feel better knowing that Indigo Place was intact even if she weren't
residing there any longer.
"Good." Vigorously he rubbed his hands together. "Where do we start?"
"You mean now?"
"Why not? That's what you were going to do today anyway, wasn't it?"
"Yes, but…" Compiling a thorough inventory and price list would take hours, days.
The idea of spending that much time in the company of James Paden was
unnerving. "What about the pier?"
"I can do that anytime."
"There's no reason to trouble yourself with this," she said on a burst of
inspiration. "I'll make the list and price the items as I think fair. You can go over
the list when I'm finished. If there's any bargaining to be done, we'll do it then."
He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and gave her a slow, deliberate once-over.
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"What!"
"I haven't become rich by buying a pig in a poke."
"A pig—"
"No," he said casually, ignoring her sputtering outrage, "I'll feel much better if we
make that list together."
"You're doubting my integrity?" she asked in disbelief. "You were the one caught
snitching cookies from the school cafeteria, not me!"
"You remember that?"
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"I certainly do."
"I didn't snitch them. The lady in charge of the desserts was slipping them to me.
She just wouldn't fess up to it later."
"I don't believe you."
He smiled lazily. "You would if you knew what I was giving her in exchange."
Laura did believe him then. Her cheeks grew hot. To get them back to the subject
at hand, she said, "I'm scrupulously honest."
"Then you won't mind if I look over your shoulder while you're making that list."
She drew a deep breath and expelled it on a long gust of annoyance. "I'll get a
tablet and two pencils." She stamped toward the Queen Anne secretary in the
parlor.
* * *
"Don't we get a lunch break?"
Laura laid her tablet aside and looked at her "assistant" with asperity. "You had
breakfast."
"Yeah, about five hours ago. I'm hungry."
He was looking at her mouth. Uneasily she put space between them. Her own
stomach was experiencing pangs, and they weren't caused by hunger of the
digestive variety.
They had begun taking inventory in the dining room. After listing the pieces of
furniture, they had started going through the china cabinets and silver chests. It
was a painstaking, time-consuming project, hampered by James's penchant for
joking and idle conversation. He had shown an inordinate amount of interest in
the events of her life since he had last seen her, over ten years ago.
"I need something to tide me over," he said plaintively.
"What did you have in mind?" When she glanced up at him, she wished she hadn't
asked. According to his expression, a meal was only one of their options.
"For food, you mean?"
"Of course for food."
"A picnic."
"A picnic?"
"You stay here." He pushed himself off the chair he had been straddling with his
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chin propped on its back. "I'll scrounge around for something and bring it in."
"Do you trust me now?" she asked, batting her eyelashes in farcical innocence.
"About as far as you trust me," he said over his shoulder as he sauntered out.
Laura made a face at him, but he didn't see it.
He returned several minutes later carrying a plastic tray loaded with fruit and
cheese, an assortment of crackers, and two tall glasses of iced tea. He set the tray
down on the floor near the wide windows and dropped down beside it. "Come on
over."
"You really meant it when you said a picnic, didn't you?"
"Yep. But better. No ants."
"Mother, Father, and I used to have picnics on Sunday afternoons in the
summertime," she said musingly, sitting down beside him and leaning against the
windowsill.
He topped a cracker with cheese spread and passed it to her. "The Padens weren't
known for their Sunday picnics." His comment was made without rancor. "I guess
I'm making up for the ones I missed when I was a kid."
She nibbled on the cracker, sorry that she had unthinkingly mentioned her family.
Comparisons of their social statuses were bound to be drawn. Laura
ackno
wledged that she'd been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth.
It was a wonder that James didn't hate her. Or did he? Was that why he wanted
22 Indigo Place? Did he know that selling her family home to him would be the
most bitter pill for her to swallow? Because she typified those who had snubbed
him, was he punishing her?
"I'm sure your mother is glad you can go on picnics together now." Laura looked
at him slyly. His jaw tensed.
"I wouldn't know."
"Haven't you seen her?"
"No."
"At all?"
"No."
"Does she know you're back?"
He shrugged. "She might have gotten wind of it."
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Laura was shocked and a trifle disappointed in him because he hadn't contacted
his mother. The last time she had seen Mrs. Paden, she was certainly better
dressed than she had been years ago, but she still had that weary, dejected,
woebegone look that had always characterized her in Laura's mind. How could he
neglect his only relative so unconscionably?
Suddenly he reached out and whipped the scarf off Laura's head. Her sunlightened
brown hair tumbled to her shoulders. "That's better."
"Why'd you do that?" she asked irritably.
"Why'd you tie that thing around your hair?" he fired back.
"I wanted—"
"You wanted to make yourself as unattractive as possible."
"That's ridiculous. Why would I do that?"
"So I wouldn't lust after your body." She closed her mouth with a soft click of her
teeth. "Right?" He bit into a crunchy slice of apple. Several moments elapsed. She
couldn't think of a single thing to say. "Cat got your tongue?"
"I never heard anything so preposterous."
He chuckled low and deep. "I can see straight through you, Miss Laura. Just like I
could see through that nightie you had on yesterday morning. Did you hope I'd
forget how adorable and tousled you looked fanning around in that?"
"I wish you would forget it."
"Not likely. I'll remember how you look first thing in the morning for a long time."
Brazenly he looked at her breasts. "How everything looks."
"I've had enough." She dropped a slice of cheese back onto the tray.
His hand shot out and caught her wrist before she could get to her feet. "I'm not
finished yet."
"But I don't want any more."