Enlisted by Love (7 page)

“But he's coming over all the time,” Tess said, flopping onto the bed. She hadn't brought the morning coffee. She was probably too annoyed over Ian to want to waste time standing quietly in line when she could be complaining to Greta. Yet Greta would find dealing with said complaint far easier if she had a cup of coffee in her hand. Tess couldn't be expected to think of everything.

“He's over there all the time,” Tess emphasized. “And I hate to ask Michael to tell him to stop … ”

Ah. Greta peered over the tops of her glasses at her sister. Now the reason for the drama — and the foregone coffee — became clear.

She marveled at Ian's plan. It was the perfect way to pressure her into moving faster on the job. She admitted that she hadn't precisely made his project a priority, and it did keep slipping to the bottom of her to-do list somehow. But still. He was good at finding a person's weaknesses, she had to give him credit for that.

No, she didn't have to do any such thing. There was nothing to admire in a manipulative man, unmindful of other people's feelings. There was nothing likeable in that, or in him. Right? She did not like him
at all
. Not the devilish gleam in those gray eyes, not the appraising look he got in them when he thought she wasn't watching, not the easy chuckle when she did or said something that surprised or amused him, not the decisiveness with which he made his choices and the confidence with which he stood by them. Even when he was absolutely wrong, as with the curios.

She couldn't help the grin that tugged at her lips. There was more to him than the surface appearance.

No. She turned the grin into a frown. There was not. He was obstinate and manipulative and she would not give him the satisfaction of pressuring her into acting in a way she would not ordinarily do. She disliked all of him, top to bottom, surface to interior. All of him.

Then she looked into Tess's troubled eyes. If she didn't relent, Tess would suffer, though she wouldn't complain to anyone (other than Greta) about it. She would never give Michael an ultimatum, and she was still in the wanting-to-please-her-man stage, which Greta felt she could very well get over. Boundary-setting was imperative in any healthy relationship.

So was compromise. The thought popped into her head and try as she might she could not dislodge it.

With a sigh, Greta dug deep and found a charitable excuse for Ian's behavior: he didn't realize he was imposing on Tess. He was just spending time with an old friend while his house was being put into order, and he didn't realize how disruptive his presence was.

Did she believe that?
Grr
. She took a deep breath. She would believe it, at least for the amount of time it would take to finish the project. Ian was unaware that his presence was an imposition. Michael, for his part, was glad to see an old friend and didn't realize that Tess found Ian an obnoxious boor — though she hadn't exactly said that. Ian was not a sensitive man. You couldn't expect better from him. She might just have a tiny talk with Michael.

“Why don't we make the master bedroom our next priority?” she suggested and relaxed a little when she saw Tess's obvious relief. “We can get someone out right away to turn that extra bedroom into a home theater.” She named a local electronics store that she always relied on for anything to do with home entertainment, though personally she disapproved of the entire concept. “We can put a microwave on a cart in the kitchen until we have a chance to get to it. He isn't going to be doing any gourmet cooking in the next few weeks anyway.” If she knew men, and she did, he'd be subsisting on takeout and frozen burritos long after his kitchen was fully equipped and totally operational. “That'll cover the three main necessities.”

“Food, sleep, and?”

“Football.”

“Right,” Tess said, looking surprised.

“I understand men perfectly,” Greta said crisply. She saw Tess smother a smile, which she prudently ignored. She reached for the folder labeled with Ian's name. “What does he have in the way of bedroom furniture?”

“Just a futon,” Tess said, taking the folder from her and leafing through the photos she'd taken to find the one that showed it. She pulled it loose and handed it over.

“No,” Greta said, putting it aside on what she immediately designated as the garage sale pile. “No one should have to sleep on a futon once he or she is out of college. Not even Ian. That's worse than a sleeping bag.”

“What if he insists on keeping it?” Tess asked.

Greta looked at her.

“Oh, right,” Tess said.

Greta flipped through the stack of photos in the folder, looking for suitable bedroom furniture, then stopped and tapped one with her fingernail. “What is this? Is this a real armoire or a television cabinet?” The piece of furniture had gracefully curving lines and an attractive reddish finish accented with gold leaf. It was possible that he had deliberately chosen such an attractive piece with an appreciation of its grace and fine proportions, but it was more likely that it represented accidental aesthetics. Occasionally even an individual with no sense of discernment whatsoever got it right, through no fault of his own.

“I don't know,” Tess admitted, glancing at the photo. “I didn't think to open it up to look.”

Greta would have, but perhaps not with Ian hovering nearby. She'd have wanted to finish as quickly as possible, too. “That's all right. I need to take a closer look at this — ‘collection' I guess we can call it — anyway. I haven't even begun to conceive of what his living room is going to look like.”

Tess opened her mouth to make a suggestion. Greta could tell from the twinkle in her eye that it wasn't something she wanted to hear. She glared at her sister, hoping to forestall comment. Tess cleared her throat, then asked, “Shall I call him and ask him to meet you over there?” Although she'd obviously changed her mind about the remark she intended to make, the twinkle did not leave her eyes as she reached for the phone.

“Not
me
,” Greta said. “
Us
.” Tess had gotten her into this in the first place. She could darn well act as moral support and deflect some of Ian's unsettling attention away from Greta. “I'm not spending any more time alone with him than I absolutely have to.” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn't because she disliked him but because the blasted man was worming his way under her skin. She sucked a frustrated breath in. She did not like the feeling of Ian worming around under her skin. Next thing she knew, she'd be looking forward to seeing him flash that charming smile. She'd recognize that he was manipulating her and instead of cutting him to the quick over it, she'd smile indulgently at the behavior.

No. She would never allow it to come to that. She knew better. She was going to choose better. She was going to choose wisely.
Never dating is not breaking the cycle, Greta
, Tess said in her head. Greta glared at the Tess standing in front of her. “You're coming with me.”

• • •

The gracefully curving doors of the armoire opened to reveal shelves for a television and DVD player with holes punched in the back panel to make room for power cords. Greta shook her head regretfully as she closed the doors. “We could use a real armoire in the master bedroom,” she said, turning away from the rejected piece and assessing the non-rejected pieces within view, crossing her arms in what she knew was an unreceptive posture. Tess stood at her elbow, pen and sketchbook at the ready.

“I don't mind having a television in my bedroom,” Ian said. He stood a respectful three paces behind her, his hands shoved in his trouser pockets, like he was a child who had been warned not to touch anything. He was pretending to be suitably cowed into acquiescence, but Greta knew better. Nothing on God's green earth could cow Ian into submission, not even Greta, and she knew it.

“I understand that a television might make you feel less lonely,” she cooed. “However, we want the bedroom to be a restful place. A cocoon against the incursions of the outside world.”

“Sort of like yours?” Tess asked innocently.

Greta shot her a quelling glance. She'd forgotten why she never brought Tess places. “How my bedroom is furnished is immaterial.” Tess would surely recognize the frostiness in her tone. Unfortunately, you couldn't intimidate Tess any more than you could Ian.

“No, wait,” Ian said to Tess. “What does she have in her bedroom?”

Tess grinned, as if she were in cahoots with Ian. She was supposed to be in cahoots with
Greta
. What about all those years of sisterhood? The child didn't have a loyal bone in her body. “Oh, she has her entire home office up there. Fax machine, photocopier, file cabinets — ”

Greta stepped on Tess's toes. That surprised Tess into silence, a feat Greta rarely accomplished. “My personal situation is of no relevance to a client,” she said, making her voice especially icy but Tess just rolled her eyes.

Ian had moved closer from his respectful three paces back. Now he turned to look at Greta. “An entire
office
?” he said. “And you're begrudging me a television?” His eyes danced with amusement. Her effort to sustain her icy facade crumbled in the face of the gleam in his eyes.

It wasn't fair. She could keep herself from succumbing to the gray eyes and the commanding presence and the swaggering hips but she had no defense against a man with a sense of humor.

“Your home theater room will be just across the hall,” she said, attempting to reassert control of the situation. There was nothing remotely funny about a home entertainment system, at least in her opinion, so invoking it should prevent her from giving in to mirth. “You'll still be able to get your fill of football.”

“Make sure there's a nice recliner in there,” he said. “You know, Michael's dad had a Barcalounger — ”

“Now you're just goading me.” She put her hands on her hips and tried to give him a glare. He tried to respond. She saw the betraying twitch of his lips and she had to bite down hard to keep her own laughter from escaping. Which of them would surrender first?

“Look at this,” Tess said.

Greta glanced over at her. She had opened one of the many storage boxes piled in the unit, and was bent over it, scrounging for treasures. Tess could find treasures anywhere, although Greta sometimes disagreed with her on what, exactly, constituted a treasure. She waited a second for Tess to explain what had demanded that she interrupt a conversation with a client. Then it dawned on her. Tess never interrupted a conversation Greta was having with a client. Unless … unless Tess thought Greta was behaving less than professionally.

She couldn't help it. The idea that Tess thought she was acting unprofessionally — Tess of all people — struck her as so ludicrous she couldn't even protest the judgment. She burst into laughter. A moment later, Ian joined her. Tess looked from one to the other, clearly unsure what had just happened.

“Greta?”

Greta couldn't say anything, just held up a hand, asking for patience while she laughed. Tess blinked at the scene, not joining them but obviously not certain what the appropriate response should be. After a moment, their giggles subsided and Greta dabbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Now you've made my mascara run,” she accused Ian and that sent both of them back into laughter.

When Greta had recovered herself again, she took a deep breath and turned to her sister. Tess, now sitting cross-legged on the floor, stared up at them as if they were some alien species. Lengths of batik fabric spilled out of the box she'd opened onto her lap.

“What do you think?” she asked politely, ignoring their behavior as if it had never happened. She held up a length of cloth. “Greta, this would make great curtains for the bedroom. Were you in India, Ian?”

Greta glanced at Ian, who was still smiling broadly but seemed in control of himself. She lifted a brow in his direction. What had just happened between them? Sparring with Ian wasn't supposed to make her laugh so hard. She met his gray eyes, and when she did the gleam of amusement in them died down and something else took its place, something that slid across her skin like a caress. Heat and desire —

Tess cleared her throat. “Uh, guys?”

Greta shook herself, tearing her gaze away from Ian's with an effort. She crossed over to where Tess was sitting and bent to pick up one of the lengths of fabric. She ran it through her fingers. The fabric was cool and smooth, colorful without being loud and distracting.

“I think — ” Tess began.

“Hush,” Greta said, knowing Tess wouldn't be offended. When Tess was in the throes of designing fabric, she often did the same to Greta. Greta frowned at the fabric resting between her fingers, then remembered that was a bad habit and let the frown go. Ian needed a bedroom; she would give him one. His tastes ran to Asian-influenced design; she would give him that.

“I see a big platform bed in a light wood stain,” she said. Tess scrabbled for the pen and the notebook she always had on hand, and began jotting notes as Greta spoke.

“Egyptian cotton sheets and a comforter made of this material. Curtains, too, you're right about that.” She bit her lip. That was a start. But only a start —

“But — ” Ian began.

“Hush,” Tess and Greta said simultaneously. Tess looked at Greta expectantly. In the back of her mind, Greta knew that Ian noticed how Tess was treating her like an oracle, and how amused he was by it. Her lips twitched. Perhaps she could make a living as a prophet or a guru if this design business didn't work out. She glanced over her shoulder and caught Ian's answering smile.

“Focus,” Tess said in a low voice. “For heaven's sake, Greta. Pay attention.”

Greta looked back at the fabric in her hands. The rest was coming now. She could see it, a cool, light room, not too boring and restful. Just right.