A Heart Revealed (29 page)

“I’ll take a Coca-Cola if you have it,” Steven called, grabbing a magazine from the coffee table as he sat on the couch. Pauline kicked her shoes off and joined him, snuggling a little too close for comfort while he absently flipped through the pages.

“Here you go.” Nellie delivered Coca-Colas before settling on the love seat next to Joe, her glass in hand. “So, anyone up for poker?” she asked with a wriggle of brows. “I feel lucky, and we sure could use some help with the rent.”

It was actually just what he needed, Steven realized after they’d played several hands, relaxing on pillows Nellie had tossed on the floor. Between Joe’s corny jokes, Nellie’s lively personality, and Pauline’s doting attention, Steven enjoyed himself more than he’d thought possible, laughing and trading insults with Joe like old times. Even Pauline didn’t seem like such a threat anymore, cheering him on as he arm-wrestled with Joe.

When Steven had won all of their money, Joe jumped to his feet and extended Nellie a hand. “What do you say I take a look at the curtain rod you wanted me to fix in your bedroom?”

“Sure,” she said with a broad smile, following him down the hall with a wink over her shoulder. “Be good, you two.”

Feeling awkward, Steven reached for the cards. “Know how to play gin rummy?”

“I do,” Pauline said with a tentative smile, “but if it’s okay with you, I’d rather just talk.”

“Sure.” Steven stood and offered his hand to help her up from the floor. “So how did you and Nellie come to be roommates anyway?” he asked, tossing the cards on the coffee table. He upended his Coca-Cola and eased back onto the couch.

“We were best friends in high school,” she said, offering him a peppermint candy. Lowering to the sofa, she tucked her legs beneath her skirt. “I understand you and Joe go way back as well—kindergarten, right?”

Steven placed his empty glass on the table and shifted to face her. “Yeah. We’ve been good friends all of our lives, and now that we work as partners day in and day out, we’re more like brothers who occasionally get on each other’s nerves.”

Her hand idly caressed the couch next to his leg, her eyes following the stroke of her fingers. “He worries about you, you know. Thinks you’re still bleeding over Maggie.”

He puffed out a sigh. “Maggie is over and done, and Joe knows that better than anyone.”

Her lashes lifted slightly as she watched him through veiled eyes. “He claims you’ve had no interest in women since,” she said quietly. “Is that true?”

Heat cuffed the back of his neck. “Joe talks too much,” he said in a rough voice.

Gentle fingers lighted upon his leg. “Or cares too much,” she whispered.

Warmth generated from her touch, and he studied her for several seconds, drawn to the pull of green eyes soft with concern and full lips parted in invitation.

As if sensing the attraction, she leaned in, her palm warm on his thigh as she brushed soft lips against his. His breathing quickened, awakening urges dormant since Maggie. He hesitated for the briefest of moments and then clutched her close, deepening the kiss as he eased her against the couch. Pulse skyrocketing, his mouth took hers with an intensity that had once been second nature. And then in a ragged heave of his breath, he pushed her away, the heat of passion burning away in the heat of his anger. “You’re drinking?” he rasped.

“Steven, no, I promise . . .”

But he saw the lie on her face, and he tasted it in her mouth, not quite masked by the peppermint candy she’d offered him earlier. He shot up and sniffed her half-empty glass before striding to the kitchen to jerk cabinets open. He found what he was looking for on a top shelf—an innocuous bottle of witch hazel, tucked behind a package of Quaker Oats. He screwed off the lid, and the scent of oil of juniper assaulted his senses. Fury surged through his veins as quickly as this home-brew gin could travel the bloodstream, and with tic in his jaw, he dumped it down the drain with violent force. Hurling the bottle into the sink, he turned on Pauline, eyes itching hot. “Oh, this is rich! Entertaining prohibition agents with a stash in your pantry. I oughta haul you in.” He pushed her aside and stormed toward the door.

“Steven, wait—”

He spun around. “No, you wait, Pauline. Joe may be starry-eyed enough to overlook this, but I’m not. I’m sworn to uphold the law, and that’s what I intend to do.” He leveled a finger, warning twitching in every muscle in his face. “You best tread lightly, Miss O’Shea, because if I catch you or Nellie with alcohol again, I guarantee you’ll be doing your entertaining behind bars.”

He slammed the door and charged down the stairs, flinging the front door open so hard, it ricocheted off the brick wall. He was met with a blast of cool air that did little to temper the heat in his cheeks. “They’re all the same,” he muttered, thoughts of Pauline’s kiss burning as much as the taste of the alcohol. He plunged his fists in his pockets and headed home, wondering if he’d ever find a woman untainted by an era where pleasure came before morals. Sarcasm curled his lip as he rounded the corner.
Maybe in a church or a convent.
Unfortunately, that pious kind of woman didn’t appeal either. Because deep down he still craved a woman like Maggie—vibrant, alive, with a dangerous gleam in her eye. He scowled and kicked a rock, pinging it at a streetlamp with no little force. His jaw hardened. Too bad guilt had ruined him forever.

Arriving home, he unlatched the front gate and glanced at his watch, grateful the parlor window was blessedly dark. It was almost eleven, which meant his parents were in bed. Steven exhaled his relief. The last thing he needed was an inquisition from his mother.

Did you have a good time?

Why are you home early?

Was the young lady nice?

He grunted.
Yeah . . . nice and loose.
He slipped his key in the lock with a wry slant of his lips, thinking of his father’s persistent concern over Steven’s departure from women. He shook his head and opened the door. One moment they’re coming to blows over his lust for Maggie and life, and the next, his father’s worried he’s not living enough. He sighed.
A no-win situation.

Squinting at the sliver of light beneath the kitchen door, Steven ambled through the dining room to investigate.

“What are you doing home?” he asked with a palm to the door. “I thought you shot hoops on Friday night with Murph and the guys.” He strolled in and snatched a piece of the brownie from Sean’s plate and popped it in his mouth. “Wow, is there any more?”

“Nope.” Sean chewed with cheeks full. “Emma made it, and this is all she sent.” He pushed the plate toward Steven. “Want the last bite?”

Pouring himself some milk, Steven sat down and gave Sean a sour smile. “No thanks, I’m afraid one more taste is going to make me want more.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Sean said with a scowl. He pushed the plate away, stretching back in his chair with legs propped up. “I wasn’t up to a game tonight. Too tired.”

Steven stared, glass midway to his lips. “Too tired for basketball? You sick?”

“Yeah, a terminal case of stupidity.” Sean scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands.

“Nothing stupid about you, not when you steer clear of women like you do.”

Sean rested his head on the back of the chair and folded his arms, eyes closed. “Sure, a real intelligent guy. That’s why I invited Rose Kelly to my playoff game tomorrow night.”

Milk spewed from Steven’s lips. “What? The dame who lost you your job? You crazy?”

“Apparently,” Sean said. “Crazy and stupid. You may as well lock me up now.”

“But why?” Steven sputtered, wiping the milk from his mouth and shirt. “I thought you hated her.”

“Nope, hate is a luxury I don’t have, evidently, according to Emma.” Sean opened his eyes and kneaded the bridge of his nose. “Rose came by the office tonight to apologize. Said she wanted to talk, ask my forgiveness, get a cup of coffee. I lost my temper and screamed. Practically threw her out, and Emma took me to task.”

“No joke? Emma called you on the carpet?” Steven could hardly believe his ears. First his easygoing brother loses his temper a second time and now sweet Emma pulls rank?

“No, nothing that drastic. Just a heart of gold that has a way of making mine look pretty black.” He sighed. “She shamed me into forgiving Rose, clearing the air over coffee.”

Sean would have been comical if not so depressed. Steven bit back a smile. “And?”

His brother glanced up beneath lidded eyes. “I let it slip I coach St. Stephen’s team on Saturday nights and told her she could come sometime. ‘How about tomorrow night?’ she says like the spider to the fly.” He spiked shaky fingers through his hair, wreaking havoc with the Brilliantine. “So I told her yes.” He sighed. “What else could I say?”

“Oh, I don’t know—
no
, maybe?” Steven shot a pointed look, then shook his head. “For crying out loud, Sean, you can’t say no to a woman? Not to mention the one who lost you your job?”

Blond brows slashed low over narrowed eyes as Sean shifted in his chair. “I don’t remember you being so all-fired good at saying no to Maggie, as I recall. Besides, you know what it’s like with women today—they practically throw themselves at you.”

“Tell me about it. Joe fixed me up tonight with his girlfriend’s roommate, and I had to pour a bottle of booze down their drain.”

Laugh lines fanned the edge of Sean’s eyes as humor lit his gaze. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Steven’s lips zagged into a droll smile. “Tasted it on her breath
after
she hauled off and kissed me.” He shook his head. “Do you honestly think there are any women out there who are really decent? You know, not in a fever to get friendly with every other guy? Some sweet, nice gal with morals who’s actually willing to let the guy wear the pants?”

Sean rose to carry dirty dishes to the sink. “So help me, I hope not. I’m having enough trouble staying away from the pushy ones who annoy me.” He washed his plate and utensils and stacked them in the dish rack, then turned to give Steven a tired smile. “Of course, there are our sisters, although Charity could be a stretch.” He paused, his gaze wistful. “And Emma, of course.” He folded his arms and leaned back against the counter, eyes trailing into a pensive stare. “I’ll tell you what—when it comes to marriage, I’d be long gone if there were more women like Emma out there. She’s truly one of a kind.” He blinked, suddenly breaking his reverie. “But, who knows? I’ll bet the perfect girl’s out there to put the fever in your eye.”

Steven snorted. “What a dreamer—I plan to stay on my guard more than you.”

A chuckle rumbled from Sean’s throat as he stretched. “Well, if I am going to stay on mine, I need sleep.” He gave his brother’s shoulder a sympathetic slap on his way to the door. “Looks to be a long, ugly day tomorrow, and I’m going to need all the energy I can get.”

A devilish grin eased across Steven’s face. “To fend the lady off?”

Sean laughed. “Trust me—there’ll be no fending, no friendship, and definitely no fever.”

“Never know . . . you may like it,” Steven said, a sly look in his eye.

The kitchen door squealed open as Sean paused, hand splayed against the wood. He hung his head and glanced up, eyes twinkling as they peered beneath weighty lids. He shook his head and laughed. “And you call
me
a dreamer.”

9

B
ang! Slam! Groan . . .

Emma and Bert exchanged glances. “How long has he been like this?” Emma whispered, leaning over Bert’s desk with a nervous peek into Sean’s office.

“Since he came in this morning.” Bert’s mouth flattened. “I’m thinking of going home to yank the tail of my neighbor’s Doberman—more fun and way less risky.”

“Oh, my . . . ,” Emma said with a grate of her lip, wishing she hadn’t spent the morning catching up on paperwork behind closed doors. “Any idea what’s wrong?”

Bert grunted, shuttered eyes betraying her concern. “Says he’s fine and dandy. ’Course, the nasty scowl says he’s a liar, but he’s a man after all, so enough said.”

The creases at the bridge of Emma’s nose eased as she patted Bert’s hand with a tentative smile. “Well, I brought in the last of the brownies, so maybe that will cheer him up.” She glanced at her watch and caught her breath, a hand to her cheek. “Oh, Bert, you need to go! It’s bad enough I drag you in on a Saturday, but now it’s past two, and the day’s almost gone.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bert said with a glower that made Sean’s mood appear almost tame. She dragged herself up with another caustic squint. “He’s startin’ to get on my nerves. Can’t stand anybody grouchier than me. Puts a real damper on my sunny mood, you know?”

“I know,” Emma said with a squeeze of Bert’s arm. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend—what’s left of it, anyway. And thanks so much for coming in today. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She wrestled a pretty straw cloche over wavy black tresses, then slapped a matching purse under her arm, giving Emma a thin-lipped smile that was more of a threat. “Tell him to cheer up or I’ll really give him something to moan about.”