Home for Love (4 page)

"You know, I've considered that, too. With a little refurbishing, it could be very decorative. I could convert it to a storage area. And can't you just see a couple of trailing plants on top of it? Maybe a fern—"

"No plants. I want it plugged into the wall, and I want it stocked with rotten mayonnaise."

Kate set down her pizza and struggled to maintain a reasonable tone. "I always try to stay true to my clients' wishes, of course. It's just that I didn't know you really
had
any specific ideas for the house. How do you envision the overall scheme?"

"I don't. I told you, I just want a little paint slapped up. Only I was thinking more in terms of white."

"White paint?" Kate asked faintly.

"What else?"

"Lavender, honey, robin's-egg blue—"

"Orange. You're painting my library orange!"

They glared at each other across the table.

"That shade happens to be 'peaches-and-cream,'" Kate informed him stiffly.

"Oh, Lord. Where did you buy something like that?"

"I mixed it myself."

His gaze seemed to soften. "Look, Kate—it's fine."

"If you don't like it, just say so."

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm a professional."

"Professionals can be just as susceptible to wounded feelings as other people," he pointed out.

"I'll paint it over. I know just the color. 'Institutional white.' I think you'll like that." She chewed her pizza vigorously.

"I
knew
your feelings were hurt. Just leave it peaches-and-milk, or whatever."

"Mr. Reid—"

"Steven."

"Let me explain to you one more time that feelings have absolutely nothing to do with this!"

"I think they do," he remarked. "Quite a lot, in fact. You're taking everything personally. Why not just admit it? Then we can get on with the job."

She took a deep breath.

"All you have to do is tell me what you want done with the house. I'll be more than happy to comply."

"I don't know what I want," he said. "If I did, you wouldn't be here in the first place."

"White paint. That's it? That's your only opinion? I should have saved the mayonnaise. I could have slapped that on a few walls."

They ate the rest of the pizza in stubborn silence. Afterward Kate stuffed the empty box into the trash and filled the sink with water.

"You need a drain board," she said. Steven didn't answer. The silence between them vibrated with a sultry tension as they stood side by side at the sink. Kate's hands moved over the dishes in the sudsy water; Steven took the dishes from her, rinsed them and dried them with a paper towel. Her heart was pulsing in her throat at his nearness.

Steven's hand slid into the warm, soapy water. His fingers bumped gently against hers and he turned toward her. She parted her lips to protest, but no words would come out. She couldn't make herself step away from him. There was a sweet, heavy expectancy in her limbs.

His lips moved over her temple, brushed the line where her hair grew from a widow's peak.

"Lovely," he murmured, his voice husky. "You're lovely, Kate." He brought her close to him—slowly, inexorably. His mouth descended to cover hers.

It was not a demanding kiss. It wasn't hurried. Steven made a leisurely exploration, discovering each subtle contour of her lips. His touch was like warm, golden honey spreading through her. It tantalized her, teased with its gentleness. Her fingers reached out to twine with his in the water.

Now he bent his head to her throat, tasting her bare skin. When he returned to her mouth his lips were harder, seeking a deeper response from her.

She felt suddenly frightened, the warmth inside her fanning into a flame. What was she doing?

"No!" The word came out in a strangled cry. She struggled away from him, cradling her wet hand against her body.

"Look, Kate…" he began, but she backed away from him. She didn't want to talk about it. Surely it was bad enough that this had happened at all.

"I'm going," she said shakily. "I'll keep to my promise. From now on…from now on you won't even see me." She ran to the hall, grabbed up her briefcase and fled out the door.

Her cheeks burned with confusion even in the cool night air. Nothing seemed familiar to her anymore; her hands fumbled with the car keys, and she nearly flooded the Bug's engine when she started it up. She was relieved to make it out the drive and down McClary Hill. She drove across town, pushing the little car as fast as it would go.

Kate turned onto her own street of restored Victorian row houses. They rose in the fog like gaunt, fussy old ladies. She was glad to see them, for her heart was still beating a wild tattoo. She managed to park at the curb, then hurried up the steps of the house where she lived. It had been converted into three apartments. Her own was on the top floor, and she was immensely relieved to reach it. She needed a safe harbor to calm herself and straighten out her emotions.

She extracted a tea bag from her briefcase and heated some water in the kitchen. A few moments later she was able to sink gratefully into her rocking chair, a turn-of-the-century piece, with faded needlepoint cushions. She rocked fiercely and sipped her tea.

All right. She was physically attracted to Steven. Very much so. That was perfectly normal; she was a young, healthy woman. And he had kissed her, tenderly and completely.

Kate sprang up and the rocker nearly went over backward. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, her brain befuddled with a fog all its own. She had to decide how she was going to handle this. She'd never been kissed by a client before.
No one
had ever kissed her like that.

She had to admit she wasn't very experienced with this sort of thing. She'd always been too busy with her career to develop a serious relationship with a man. And now she had her own business, her own life. She was independent and happy. She wanted to keep things exactly that way. Certainly she wasn't going to pursue what had happened tonight. She didn't need a man intruding on her hard-won independence. Especially not a dangerous man like Steven Reid. A man like that could change a woman's life forever.

Kate wouldn't give him the opportunity. She'd keep her promise and stay well out of his path. She'd finish her work on the house and never see him again.

She sank down into the rocker again and picked up her cup. But peppermint tea wasn't comforting her to-night. She'd always been able to count on peppermint tea.

Now it was just growing cold in the cup. This was a very bad sign indeed.

Kate burrowed deeper under her pillow, trying to ignore the telephone jangling on her bedside table. She had tossed restlessly most of the night, dreaming that she was in Steven's arms. She wasn't ready to face the world yet, but the telephone wouldn't stop ringing. Kate was forced to emerge.

"Hello?" she croaked into the receiver, rubbing her eyes against early-morning sunlight.

"Ms Melrose, this is Florence Adler," came the dry, efficient voice of Steven's secretary. "I'm calling to arrange an appointment for you with Mr. Reid. He would like you to meet him at Lendal's this afternoon at precisely four-twenty. Shall I put you down in the book?"

"Wait a minute," Kate sputtered, struggling away from a tangle of sheet and blanket. "I mean—please, could you tell me what this is all about?"

"Mr. Reid did not provide me with any details on the matter," the secretary said in a hushed voice, as if Kate had just asked her to divulge state secrets. "I am sure, however, that Mr. Reid would not request this meeting unless it were essential. He is a very busy man."

Kate sighed, her eyes wide open now. "What time did you say?"

"Four-twenty sharp. Shall I give you detailed instructions to the restaurant? You turn south on—"

"That's fine, Mrs. Adler," Kate interrupted. "I'll find it. Yes, yes, I'll be there. You can even write my name down in ink." Disgruntled, she hung up the phone. Avoiding Steven would be difficult with Mrs. Adler calling up to arrange appointments. And why not four o'clock, or four-thirty? Who on earth made appointments at four-twenty?

Kate dressed, then ate her breakfast without appetite. Paula arrived a short while later to discuss business.

"Mrs. Cleeve has decided to go Japanese all the way," she exclaimed as soon as she was inside the door. "Can you believe it, after she had us do her entire house in French Provincial? Now she's determined to have nothing but cushions. I mean it, Kate! Literally nothing but cushions and pillows. That means all her tables can't be higher than sixteen inches! What am I supposed to do with the ones we ordered? Chop off their legs?" Paula sounded on the verge of tears. Her brown eyes were big and dark in her slender face; her shining blond hair swung in two smooth arcs toward her chin. She looked especially young today and Kate had to resist the urge to protect her. Paula was unsure of her own abilities, but she had enough talent to become a full partner in the business someday.

"All right, calm down," Kate said in her most authoritative yet soothing voice. "Everything will be just fine."

"But, Kate, she's insisting that it's all our fault, the tables being too tall! She won't pay the balance on her account."

Kate chewed the tip of her pen. This wasn't good news, especially after the money she'd spent lately on Steven's house. It was her practice to give clients a complete estimate of what a job would cost, including everything from the price of new draperies to the fee for her own time and expertise. She generally requested one-half of this amount in advance, an arrangement that usually gave her satisfactory working capital until the job was completed. But Steven's house was different. It had needs she could not even have guessed at in the beginning, needs she could learn only as she absorbed more of the house's shy yet gracious spirit. This meant she was using up Steven's deposit money much faster than she'd expected.

Kate set down her pen, reminding herself firmly that all her purchases and repairs so far had been absolutely necessary. Somehow everything would work out. She turned back to her assistant. "Just relax. I know you can take care of Mrs. Cleeve, Paula. And we agreed you should have more responsibility, right?"

"Yes, but not
this
much! Mrs. Cleeve's place has twenty rooms. It's the biggest account we've ever had, and I'm afraid we're going to lose it!"

"Don't talk like that. You have to have a positive attitude to survive in this business," Kate said.

Paula took a deep breath, then let the air out slowly through pursed lips. She sounded like a balloon deflating.

"I don't think having a positive attitude is enough, Kate. The problem is, you're becoming obsessed with that Reid house and leaving me in the lurch with Mrs. Cleeve."

Paula was right, unfortunately. Kate wasn't interested in decorating any other house but Steven's right now. She loved that old place; it was as simple as that.

"Look," she said to Paula, "take Mrs. Cleeve over to Applebee's and buy her a short table or two. Let her live with them for a few days, and she's bound to reconsider."

"But, Kate—"