Home for Love (6 page)

Steven was beside her in a second, kneeling down to extricate her from the rolls of wallpaper.

"Have you broken anything?" he demanded.

"No… Ouch!"

"What is it?"

"Another nail gone." She nursed the jagged edge of it, trying to scoot away from him. "Look out—you'll get all dirty."

"Don't be absurd." He took her elbow and managed to raise her to her feet. "Let me see your finger."

"It's just a nail, for goodness' sake!"

"Let me see it."

Unwillingly she gave him her hand. She stared at his immaculate white shirtfront and fought an overwhelming urge to nestle her dirt-smudged face against it. Her head moved imperceptibly yet dangerously closer to Steven's chest. He ran his fingers ever so gently over her cheek. It was just a breath of a touch, and yet it made her knees weaken.

"Kate…" he murmured. "Katherine?"

"No, actually it's Katarina." Her voice came shakily. "My mother is impossibly romantic. She didn't realize that I'm definitely a… a Kate."

His chuckle was low and deep, sending a shivery warmth down her spine.

"And exactly what is the definition of a Kate?" he asked, his mouth close to her ear.

"Someone completely…completely sensible…" She closed her eyes, drawing in her breath as his rough-soft cheek moved against hers.

He held her for another moment, then released her slowly. "I'm sorry. I promised this wouldn't happen," he said. Kate trembled, feeling empty with Steven's arms no longer around her.

"Everything's fine," she declared, smoothing back her hair. "Just fine."

"I'm glad you're not angry."

"Why should I be angry?" she snapped.

Steven regarded her. "Because you're not the kind of woman who can be casual about a kiss," he said. "That's a refreshing quality. Don't try to hide it."

She lifted her chin. "I'm not trying to hide anything. It all seems very straightforward to me. We're business associates. We should avoid… certain things. But it's nothing—nothing to get worked up about." She folded her arms tightly, willing her heart to stop its tumult. Oh, she was angry all right—but mostly at herself. How could she respond so quickly to his touch?

The knocker at the front door rapped peremptorily, jarring Kate's taut nerves.

"That must be my ride," Steven said. "Be careful tonight. Don't kill yourself with that ladder."

"You don't need to worry about me. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she retorted. His expression was skeptical as he went to open the door.

A beautiful woman stood on the porch. No, she wasn't just beautiful; riveting was a more appropriate word to describe her. Luxuriant black hair flowed over her shoulders, and her mouth was an unabashed slash of scarlet in a cream-white face. Every curve of her stunning figure was tightly sheathed in green silk.

"My, my," the woman said, giving Steven a frank appraisal. "It looks like tonight is going to be promising, after all. I'm Gloria Nestor, Steve. Randolph sent me over to be your chauffeur for the night." She made "chauffeur" sound like something delightful and wicked, and her eyes roved over Steven as if he were a tall chocolate shake. Kate glanced at him to see how he was taking all this female admiration, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Women probably looked at him like that all the time. Kate herself looked at him like that. It was a perfectly natural and perfectly annoying reaction!

"Gloria, I'd like you to meet Kate Melrose," Steven was saying, but Gloria barely flickered a glance in Kate's direction. She tucked her hand in the crook of Steven's arm, her jade-green fingernails resplendent against his tuxedo.

"Come on, Steve," she said in her throaty voice. "I'm going to show you what a warm and friendly place San Francisco can be."

Steven started to look over his shoulder at Kate, but Gloria Nestor proved she had muscle along with everything else as she squired Steven away.

Kate shut the door after them, leaning her forehead against it. The emptiness inside her was filling with a sharp pain whose source she didn't understand. It shouldn't bother her at all that Steven was spending the evening with a beautiful woman. He and Kate had agreed that their relationship ought to remain a strictly professional one—which didn't include any room for jealousy.

Kate hated herself for what she did next. She simply couldn't stop from running up to the landing window. She was just in time to see Gloria and Steven driving away in a sleek, dark green Jaguar. Kate's little yellow Bug looked dowdy and forlorn as the Jaguar swept past it.

Kate wilted and sank onto the stairway, rubbing her gold scarf against her cheek. But after a moment she sat up straight and glanced about defiantly in the gathering dusk. If she wanted, she could go out tonight herself. She pictured how she'd look, decked out in her corduroys and flowered shirt, her chipped nails displayed on Steven's tuxedoed arm. Then Gloria would appear, dazzling Steven in her designer gown—

This wasn't the right fantasy. Kate wrapped her arms around her knees and refocused her thoughts. She had that really fantastic evening dress she'd bought last year for the party with Myron. So what if Myron was just a family friend, a boy she'd grown up with and who was like one of her brothers. That didn't mean she couldn't toss on the dress at a moment's notice and go sailing off with some gorgeous male. Her brothers had plenty of friends she could rely on for the purpose!

Somehow the thought didn't cheer her up. Kate took a rag and started rubbing grime away from the newel post. But she couldn't concentrate on anything. All she could think about was Steven dancing close to Gloria in a ballroom somewhere. The thought was torment.

Kate threw down her rag. There was no peace here tonight. She had to get out. After all, she'd promised Paula that she would go over to Mrs. Cleeve's and discuss short tables. That was exactly what she'd do. Kate snatched up her briefcase and escaped.

The sun was shining bright and clear the next morning as Kate wandered morosely along a downtown street. She should have been in the best of spirits, for all her favorite circumstances were combined here. It was Saturday, the best day of the week. She was out in the fresh air, treated to a spectacular view on all sides-delicate pagodas holding their ground against towering office buildings, the Bay Bridge rising in the distance. And she was surrounded by a myriad of enticing shop windows. Yes, the day should have been perfect, but all Kate could think about was Steven and Gloria Nestor. That was ruining everything.

It maddened Kate that she couldn't stop wondering how Steven had spent the evening. She longed to be as carefree, as independent of heart, as she'd always been before, no man disturbing her happiness. No unwanted emotions.

Kate trudged on aimlessly. But then a brass coat stand gleamed at her from one of the shop windows. It would be perfect for the entryway in Steven's house. Perfect… Kate walked into the store with a sense of purpose. She was beginning to feel a little better.

The coat stand was very expensive, but it was of excellent quality, the brass giving off a rich, mellow shine. And the house needed something exactly like this, even though it wasn't in Kate's original budget. She opened her checkbook to give its contents a hopeful perusal.

Her optimism was ill-founded. She had written quite a few checks lately for Steven's house, and had jotted the figures down hastily without subtracting them from her bank balance. Now she did some mental calculations, wincing at the results. She stuffed the checkbook back into her briefcase and fished for a credit card instead.

The sales clerk drifted away for a few minutes, then drifted back again.

"Denied," he said in a pale, expressionless voice.

Kate straightened up from her examination of an antique model ship. "Excuse me?" she said.

"Credit card denied."

"That's impossible!"

"Nothing's impossible."

"Good grief. Well…wait just a minute, please." She swung her briefcase up onto the counter and snapped it open in businesslike fashion. She started rummaging through her lipstick, lotion and spare packets of tissue. Oh, there was her travel sewing kit—the one she thought she'd lost.

The sales clerk leaned over the counter to observe. Kate drew her eyebrows together. Angling the briefcase smartly to block his view, she went on hunting. She pushed aside some spare change and a few tea bags. There it was—her other credit card, although this one looked a bit battered. She handed it crisply to the sales clerk.

This time she followed him. She hovered about as he passed her card through an obnoxious little machine.

"Also denied." The card came shooting back at her. She glanced suspiciously at the machine.

"There must be some mistake."

"No," the clerk said. He was beginning to look quite alert. "Want to try another one?"

"I think… I think that's enough, thank you." She turned and snapped her briefcase shut.

"You know what they say," he remarked in a deadpan voice. "Third time lucky."

Kate felt totally flustered. She gazed at the coat stand. This was awful, just awful. She could have sworn she was nowhere near her credit limit.

The sales clerk was giving her a mild yet relentless stare. She retreated outside, and this time did not look in any shop windows as she hurried down the street. Steven's deposit money was gone, but she still had so much to do for the house. She'd already started the carpenters building more shelves, and they would be expecting payment soon. Things weren't going well with Mrs. Cleeve, either; last night's discussion about short tables had not been a success. Mrs. Cleeve had stared at Kate with a dour expression, like a latter-day Queen Victoria enthroned on cushions. Kate had tried referring gently to Mrs. Cleeve's rheumatism, which acted up in San Francisco's damp climate; surely chairs and ordinary tables would be less of a strain. But Mrs. Cleeve had remained adamant about her Japanese motif, and Kate had gone home with a leg cramp from sitting on a pillow.

Now she headed for her car. Everything was getting out of hand, yet the only solution she could think of at the moment was to retreat to McClary Hill. She'd have the house to herself and perhaps the solitude would inspire her. When she arrived, however, she found that Steven's Mercedes was back from the shop and parked in the driveway. Kate pulled up beside it, grateful not to see any dark green Jaguars.

She'd been able to make at least one purchase this morning—two cans of paint stripper. She began lugging them toward the porch. A bee buzzed lazily past her into the garden, distracting her for a moment. Weeds had taken over all the flower beds; only a few hardy rosebushes still flourished, growing wild now. The stone fountain was mournfully dry, with a stone sailing ship beached on a pedestal in its center. She'd have to do something about all this neglect. Everywhere she turned, another part of the house begged for her attention. Somehow she had to find enough money to provide the right care.

Kate's arms were aching as she toiled up the steps of the porch. The front door swung open in front of her, and there was Steven. Her eyes began at the toes of his running shoes, traveled up the lean length of his jeanclad legs, stopped at the faded blue cotton that strained across his shoulders.