Blue-Eyed Devil (17 page)

“You know, ” Todd said, “I’ve had lots of clients who have crappy taste in decorating. But they never want to admit it. They hire me and then they waste a lot of time arguing over the design scheme. This is the first client who’s ever admitted he has crappy taste.”

“I think he may actually be proud of it,” I said.

We were riding up in the elevator to the eighteenth floor, where we were going to meet Hardy at his new apartment. “Did I tell you what Beebe Whitney said when I told her that I was doing his apartment?” Todd asked.

Back in high school, Beebe had been the most beautiful girl at Lamar, not to mention head cheerleader and class princess. She had been married in one of Houston’s biggest weddings ever and had divorced eleven months later.

“No, what?”

“She said, ‘You may be doing his apartment, Todd, but I’ve done him.’”

My mouth fell open. “Beebe Whitney slept with Hardy Cates?” I whispered, scandalized.

Todd’s blue green eyes sparkled with relish. “A one-night stand. They met on her divorce-moon.”

“What’s a divorce moon?”

“It’s the trip you take after your divorce . . . you know, like a honeymoon. You didn’t have one?”

I remembered lying in Gage and Liberty’s apartment with a rib brace and a concussion, and I smiled grimly. “Not exactly.”

“Well, Beebe did. She went to Galveston, and there was this great party, and Hardy Cates was there. So after they talked for a while, they went to her hotel room. According to Beebe, they had sex all night in every possible position, and by the time it was over she felt like a cheap whore. She said it was fabulous.”

I put a hand over my midriff, where nerves were jumping. The idea of Hardy having sex with someone I knew was strangely upsetting.

“Too bad he’s straight,” Todd said. “Heterosexuality is so limiting.”

I gave him a dark glance. “Do me a favor and don’t pull anything with Hardy.”

“Sure. You calling dibs?”

“No. Not at all. I just don’t want you to make him nervous. He is definitely not bipossible.”

As we got out of the elevator and went to the apartment, I wondered what Hardy would make of Todd. My friend wasn’t in the least effeminate, but he still gave off the vibe of being able to play it any way. People usually liked Todd — he had a sense of effortless cool, of being comfortable in his own skin.

“I think you’ll get along with Hardy,” I said. “I’ll be interested to hear your opinion of him later.”

Todd had an unerring ability to read people, to ferret out the secrets they gave away without even knowing it. Body language, verbal hesitations, the minute changes in expression . . . Todd saw it all with an artist’s sensitivity to detail.

As we got to the door, we saw that it was already open. “Hello?” I said tentatively as we went inside the apartment.

Hardy came to meet us, his gaze flicking over me, then settling on my face. “Hi.” He smiled and reached for my hand. He held it a little too long, his thumb sliding into the cup of my palm before I tugged free.

He was wearing a designer suit, a beautiful dress shirt, a good watch. His tie was a little loose, as if he’d been tugging at it, and his hair fell in mink-brown layers that practically begged to be touched and played with. He looked good in the civilized attire, but there was still a touch of the bruiser about him, a sense that he was not meant be bound up in a suit and tie.

“Can I help you with that?” he asked Todd, who was burdened with a stack of materials including a portfolio, sample books, sketches, and folders.

“Nope, I’ve got it.” Todd set the stack on the gray quartz countertop. He gave Hardy a pleasant smile and extended a hand. “Todd Phelan. Great place you’ve got here. I think we can come up with something really spectacular for it.”

“Hope so.” Hardy shook his hand firmly. “I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

“You don’t have to stay out of the way. I intend to take your likes and dislikes into account.” Pausing, Todd added with a grin, “We may even be able to work in the cowhide sofa if you’re attached to it.

“It’s damn comfortable,” Hardy said with a touch of wistfulness. “I have some good memories of that sofa.”

“We’ll all be better off if you keep those to yourself,” I said crisply. Hardy grinned at me.

“In the absence of furniture,” Todd said, “this will have to be a kitchen counter meeting. If you’ll come around here, Hardy, I’ll show you some ideas I’ve already come up with. I have a copy of the floor plan, so I’m familiar with the layout . . . ”

As Hardy walked around the counter to join him, Todd turned to me and mouthed a silent Wow, his turquoise eyes sparkling with glee. I ignored him.

The two men bent over the sample book. “See this color palette . . . ? Todd was saying. “Earth tones, caramels, botanical greens, some pumpkin orange here and there for pop. This would be a really comfortable environment. And it would definitely soften the sterility of the finish in here.”

They agreed on natural textures and tones, and furniture with tailored lines. The only preference Hardy had was that he didn’t want a lot of little tables and chairs scattered around. He liked solid furniture that wouldn’t make him feel cramped.

“Of course,” Todd said. “Big guy like you . . . what are you, six one, six two . . . ?”

“Six two.”

“Right.” Todd slid me a glance of bright mischief. Clearly he found Hardy as delicious as I did. But unlike me, Todd was not at all conflicted about it.

“What do you think?” Hardy asked me as they pulled some sample pages from a book and laid them side by side. “Do you like the way this looks?”

As I moved next to him, I fell the gentle brush of his hand on my back. Heat raced along my spine, up to the base of my skull. “I do,” I said. “I still object to the cowhide, however.”

“It adds a touch of whimsy,” Todd protested. “It’ll work. Give it a chance.”

“No cowhide if she doesn’t like it,” Hardy told him.

Todd arched his brow sardonically as he looked at me. “What about orange, Haven? Can we have orange, or is that too much for you to handle?”

I studied the palette and touched a sample of chocolate-colored velvet. “I like this brown, actually.”

“I’m already using that for the chair,” Todd argued.

“Then make the chair orange and the sofa brown.”

Todd considered that and made some notes.

I heard the ring of a cell phone. Hardy glanced at both of us. “Excuse me. Do you mind if I take this one? I’ll make it as fast as possible.”

“Take your time,” Todd said. “We’re fine.”

Hardy flipped it open, wandering to the next room for privacy. “Cates here.” He paused while the person on the other end of the line spoke. “Make sure they drill slower when they go in sliding mode . . . and I want them to build that angle tight, got it? The equipment can handle it. Especially since we’re not drilling deep, no more than medium radius . . . ”

There was no business with more phallic terminology than the oil business. After being exposed to three minutes of conversation about drilling, holes, fluids, and pumping, even a Benedictine nun would have dirty thoughts. Todd and I were silent, listening avidly.

” . . . tell them we’re going long and horizontal . . . ”

“I’d like to go long and horizontal with him,” Todd commented. I smothered a laugh. “I’ll admit, he’s cute.”

“Cute? No. Sexy as hell. Unfortunately, also very straight, so . . . he’s yours.”

I shook my head. “It’s too soon after the divorce. I don’t want him. Besides, he can be a jerk, and I’ve had enough of that.”

“You let him touch you,” Todd observed idly.

My eyes widened. “I do not.”

“Yes you do. Just little touches here and there. He puts his hand on your arm or back, he stands close to you, getting you used to him . . . it’s a mating ritual. Like March of the Penguins.”

“It has nothing to do with mating rituals. It’s a Texas thing. People are touchy-feely here.”

“Especially when they want to bone you into the middle of next week.”

“Todd, shut up,” I muttered, and he snickered.

We both looked hastily down at the sample book as Hardy came back into the room.

A few more minutes of discussion, and then Hardy glanced down at his watch. “I’m sorry to have to ask this . . . but would either of you mind if we cut this a few minutes short?”

“Not at all,” Todd said. “I’ve got more than enough to start with.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Hardy loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar. “Time to change out of the monkey suit. We’re having some drilling issues with a deviated well, and I need to go on-site to check on it.” He picked up a briefcase and a set of keys, and grinned at me. “So far it’s a dry hole. But I have a feeling we’ve got a wildcat on our hands.”

I didn’t dare look at Todd. “Good luck,” I said. “By the way, is it okay if Todd and I stay here a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll lock up when we leave.”

“Thank you.” Hardy passed by me, his fingers brushing lightly over my hand as it rested on the counter. The warm touch caused a ripple of sensation to run up my arm. His gaze connected with mine in a flash of unholy blue. “Bye.” The door closed behind him.

I lent my weight to the counter, trying to think straight. But my brain had evacuated the premises.

It was a good half minute before I looked over at Todd. His eyes were slightly foggy, like he was waking up — reluctantly — from a lascivious dream. “I didn’t know they still made them like that,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Cool, tough, retro-manly. The kind who only cries if someone just ran over his dog. The big-chested guy we can indulge our pathetic daddy complexes with.”

“I don’t have a pathetic daddy complex.”

“Oh? Tell me you haven’t imagined sitting on his lap.” Todd grinned as I flushed. “You know what it is you smell on him, Haven? Testosterone. It’s leaking out of his pores.”

I covered my ears with my hands, and he broke out laughing. He waited until I had taken my hands from my ears before he said in a more serious tone, “You need to be careful with him, sweetheart.”

“Careful? Why?”

“I got the sense that beneath that all-American, blue-eyed exterior, he’s a little twisted.”

I felt my eyes go as round as quarters. “Sick twisted?”

“No, twisty twisted. Like, bending-the-rules, foxy, conniving twisted.”

“I don’t agree at all. He’s like Jack. Straightforward.”

“No, that’s what he wants you to think. But don’t believe it for a minute. It’s a front, that aw-shucks-I’m-just-a-redneck routine. He does it to set people up. And then he goes in for the kill.”

“You’re saying Hardy’s some kind of master manipulator or something?” I asked skeptically. “He’s from a trailer park, Todd.”

“The only person I’ve ever seen who’s almost as good at that kind of calculated underplaying . . . almost . . . is your father.”

I gave a disbelieving laugh, but I felt a chill run down my back. “Do you think he’s a bad guy?”

“No. But there’s a lot going on under the surface. You watch his eyes. Even when he’s doing his regular-guy routine, he’s taking measure, learning, every damn second.”

“You got all that from talking about sofas with him?”

Todd smiled. “People reveal a lot when discussing their personal taste. And I picked up a lot by watching him watch you. I think you’re in for a time of it with him, sweetheart.”

“Do you think I should stay away from him?” I asked in a scratchy voice.

Todd took a long time to answer. “My advice is, if you’re inclined in that direction, go with your eyes open. It’s okay to let someone play you, Haven, as long as you know what’s going on.”

“I don’t want to be played.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” A smile touched his lips. “With a guy like that . . . it could be fun.”

When my lunch break was over, I returned to my cubicle and Vanessa’s soft, crisp voice rose from my intercom pad. “Haven, come to my office, please.”

I immediately reasoned that I hadn’t done anything wrong, I couldn’t possibly be in trouble, but each word pierced me like I’d been shot through the heart with a nail gun.

I was pretty sure Vanessa’s romantic long weekend hadn’t gone well, because she’d come back in a bitch of a mood. She wore the same serene mask as always, but when it was just the two of us in her office, she had “accidentally” knocked over her pencil holder and asked me to pick all of them up. And then she dropped a file folder, and asked me to collect the papers that had flown everywhere. I couldn’t accuse her of doing it on purpose. After all, everyone had moments of clumsiness. But I knew it hadn’t been accidental. And the sight of me on my hands and knees had definitely improved her mood. She seemed almost jovial by the time I’d finished putting the file back together.

I realized that in a very short period of time, I had acquired a new person in my life to be afraid of. “She does that same self-absorbed, grandiose, bullying thing that Nick does,” I had told Susan during our last session. “Except she’s sneakier about it. She’s a stealth narcissist. God, how many of these jerks are out there?”

“Too many,” Susan said ruefully. “I’ve heard varying statistics, but I could make an argument that three to live percent of the population has either strong tendencies or the full-blown disorder. And although I’ve read that three quarters of all narcissists are men, I personally think it runs about fifty fifty.”

“Well, how do I stop being an N-magnet?” I had demanded, and Susan had smiled.

“You’re not an N-magnet, Haven. None of us can escape having to deal with a narcissist now and then. But I’d say you’re better equipped than most to handle it.”

Yes . . . I knew how to handle a narcissist. You could never disagree with one. You had to look awed by everything they did, and miss no opportunity to flatter or praise them. Basically, you had to sell out in every conceivable way, until there was nothing left of your dignity, self-respect, or your soul.

Vanessa didn’t bother looking up from her desk as I entered the open door to her office. “I’d like you to knock before coming in,” she said, still concentrating on her computer screen.

“Oh. Sure.” I went back to the doorway, knocked on the doorjamb, and waited for a response. Vanessa said nothing, only kept typing. I stood in the doorway and waited for a full two minutes until she finally paused to glance at me.