Blue-Eyed Devil (18 page)

“Come in.”

“Thank you,” I said with exquisite politeness. “Have a seat.”

I took the chair across from her desk and looked at her expectantly. It was unfair that someone so rotten on the inside could be so pretty. Her eyes were round and light in her oval face, and her hair was a perfect pale sweep across her shoulders.

“I’d like you to straighten the coffee area and clean out the machine,” Vanessa said.

“I cleaned the machine yesterday,” I said.

“I’m afraid you need to clean it again. The coffee doesn’t taste right.” Her brows lifted. “Unless you feel it’s beneath you? I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Haven.”

“No, it’s fine.” I gave her a shallow, innocuous smile. “No trouble. Anything else?”

“Yes. About your lunch hour activities.”

I didn’t reply, only stared at her innocently.

“You were doing something with the new tenant in his apartment this afternoon.”

“I introduced him to an interior decorator,” I said. “He asked me to.”

“You didn’t clear it with me.”

“I didn’t realize I had to,” I said slowly. “It was more of a personal favor.”

“Well, I have a rule that I should have explained before, Haven. There is no ‘getting personal’ with any of the tenants in this building. It can lead to trouble, and it can get in the way of doing your job effectively.”

“Believe me, I wouldn’t — ” I stopped, completely thrown off guard. “There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Mr. Cates.”

Some of my genuine consternation must have gotten through to Vanessa, because it was obvious she was pleased. Her face softened with the kind concern of an older sister. “I’m glad to hear that. Because someone with your history of failed relationships could make a huge mess of things.”

“I . . . ” My history of failed relationships? I’d only had one. One failed marriage. I burned with the desire to remind Vanessa that she’d been through a divorce too, and she was hardly one to talk. But somehow I managed to keep my mouth shut, while my face flooded with red.

“So,” Vanessa said with a gentle smile, “no more private meetings with Mr. Cates, right?”

I looked into those clear eyes, at her smooth, tranquil face. “Right,” I half whispered. “Anything else?”

“As a matter of fact . . . I noticed one of the vending machines near the conference room wasn’t working. I’d like you to read the service number on the machine and call for it to be fixed.”

“I’ll do it right away.” I forced my lips into a smile and stood. “Okay if I go now?”

“Yes.”

I left her office and went to clean the coffee machine, thinking grimly that anything Vanessa Flint could dish out, I could take.

Vanessa’s warning about staying away from the tenants hadn’t been necessary. I had already decided to take Todd’s assessment of Hardy to heart. I wasn’t going anywhere near him. My rebound guy, when and if I found one, was not going to be manipulative or twisty twisted. He was going to be someone I could handle, someone who wouldn’t overwhelm me. And although Hardy was only about seven or eight years older than me, he’d had infinitely more experience in just about every way. As far as sex was concerned, he’d gone “around the sugar bowl,” as Aunt Gretchen would have put it, just a few too many times.

But the day after Hardy had moved into 1800 Main, I found a wrapped package on my desk, tied with a neat red ribbon. Since it wasn’t my birthday or any gift-giving holiday I could think of, I was mystified.

Kimmie stood at the entryway of my cubicle. “It was dropped off a few minutes ago,” she said, “by one of the cutest guys I’ve ever seen. All blue eyes and bronzy muscles.”

“I think it was the new tenant,” I said, approaching the package like it might contain a bomb “Mr. Cates.”

“If that’s the kind of tenant we’re attracting,” Kimmie said, “I will work here forever. For no pay.”

“I’d steer clear of him if I were you.” I sat at my desk. “He’s no respecter of women.”

“One can only hope so,” she said.

I shot her a distracted glance. “Did Vanessa see him bring it in? Did she meet him?”

Kimmie grinned. “Not only did she meet him, she was smacking her lips over him, like Samantha and I were. And she tried her best to find out what was in that package, but he wouldn’t tell her.”

Great, I thought, and repressed a sigh. It didn’t take a genius to figure out I’d be cleaning the coffee machine at least ten times that day.

“Well . . . aren’t you going to open it?”

“Later,” I said. God knew what was in that box — I was going to wait until I could unwrap it in private.

“Haven . . . you’re crazy if you think you can take that present out of the office without letting Vanessa know what it is.” Although Kimmie seemed to like our boss, it was common knowledge that no detail of what went on in the office escaped Vanessa’s notice.

I set the wrapped box on the floor. It was heavy, with a metallic rattle coming from inside. Was it an appliance of some kind? God, please let it not be some bizarre sex toy. “I don’t have to let her pry into the details of my private life.”

“Uh-huh.” Kimmie gave me a skeptical glance. “Wait until Vanessa gets back from lunch. Your privacy will last about as long as an ice cube in Brownsville.”

It was no surprise, of course, when Vanessa came straight to my cubicle when she returned. She was dressed in a pristine white skirt suit, with an ice-pink blouse that matched her nails and delicately glossed lips. I tensed as she half sat on the edge of my desk, looking down at me.

“We had a visitor while you were out,” she remarked with a smile. “Apparently you and Mr. Cates have gotten friendly.”

“I’m friendly to all the tenants,” I said.

She looked amused. “How many of them are you exchanging gifts with, Haven?”

I stared at her without blinking. “Mr. Cates and I are not exchanging gifts.”

“Then what is that?” She pointed to the box beside my desk.

“I assume it’s a thank-you gesture. Because I recommended the interior decorator.”

“You assume?” She laughed gently. “Well, let’s stop assuming and find out what it is.”

I fought to keep the desperation from my voice. “I’m too busy to deal with that right now. I’ve got a lot of — ”

“Oh, there’s always time for presents,” Vanessa said brightly. “Go on, Haven. Open it.”

Silently I damned her, myself, and most of all Hardy Cates for putting me in this position. Reaching for the box, I hefted it to my lap. At the first sound of ripping paper, the other employees, including Kimmie, Rob, and Phil, appeared at the entrance to my cubicle. I now had an audience.

“Hey,” Kimmie said with a grin, “you’re finally opening that thing.”

Grimly I tore off the wrapping, wadded it up and deposited it in the wastebasket. The gift, whatever it was, was inside an innocuous white box. If it was something embarrassing, I thought, I was going to kill Hardy Cates within the hour. Holding my breath, I lifted the lid and discovered a case of sturdy pink molded plastic. There was a tag tied to the handle, with a few words:

Hope this will come in handy.

— H

“Is it bath stuff?” Kimmie prompted. “Makeup? Jewelry?”

“Jewelry, in a box this big?” I unfastened the silver latches.

“This is Texas,” Kimmie said reasonably.

“Go on,” Vanessa prompted, as I hesitated before lifting the lid.

Before I could stop myself, a huge, irrepressible smile spread across my face as I opened the case. It was a tool kit complete with a pink-handled hammer, a tape measure, a screwdriver, and a set of wrenches.

“A tool kit?” Kimmie asked blankly. “Well. That’s different.”

Even Vanessa looked disappointed. No doubt she had been hoping for something scandalous or compromising, or at least expensive. But the gift of a tool kit was hardly something to indicate a hot affair.

Unfortunately in my case, this was more effective than a trunkload of diamonds. It suggested that Hardy Cates understood me, got me, in a way no man ever had. Not even Nick. That scared me almost as much as it pleased me.

“Nice,” I said blandly, turning to hide my hot cheeks. I closed the tool kit and set it on the floor beside my desk.

Vanessa stayed at my desk until everyone else had gone back to work. I could feel her gaze on the back of my head. I ignored her, blindly studying my laptop screen.

“You really are bad with men, aren’t you?” I heard her say in an undertone that no one else could hear. “I could have gotten him to give me something a lot better than that.”

I convinced myself that the only decent thing to do was to thank Hardy for the gift. So I went up to his apartment after dinner that night, hoping he would be gone. My plan was to leave a bottle of wine and a note on the threshold, and avoid any actual contact with him.

But as I walked out of the elevator on the eighteenth floor, I saw Hardy punching the combination code on the door lock. He had just finished a workout — he must have gone to the fitness center on the sixth floor — and he was wearing sweatpants and a damp T-shirt that clung to every line of his body. He was built but not beefy, just . . . powerful. Ripped. I could see indentations of muscle all down his back. His biceps strained the sleeves of his shirt. The hair at the back of his neck was sweat soaked. A sheen of exertion covered his skin.

He was a big, steaming male, and I could almost smell the salt and fresh sweat and hot skin from where I stood. I felt the confusing, opposing pulls of repulsion and craving. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to put my mouth on him, any part of him. I also wanted to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction.

I managed to smile, clutching the bottle of wine against my front, as he turned to glance at me over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly, his gaze locking on mine.

“Hey.” It seemed to take an absurdly long time to reach him, as if the hallway had become a conveyor belt moving In the opposite direction. When I finally got to him, I held out the wine bottle in an awkward motion. “Thank you,” I said. “For the present. I love it.” He pushed the door open. “Come in.”

“No, thanks, I just wanted to give you this — ” Our fingers touched as he took the bottle from me, and I jerked my hand back.

He looked amused, a flicker of challenge in his eyes. “Don’t you want to see how Todd’s decorating turned out?”

“I . . . yes, I guess I could come in for a minute.” I followed Hardy into the apartment. He switched the lights on, and I almost gasped at the change in the place. It had been transformed into a rustic but sophisticated retreat. The rich earthy tones of the wood and upholstery played off the abundant row of windows. The furniture had been kept to a minimum, a few comfortable oversized pieces, including a deep sofa and chairs and a low, flat ottoman upholstered in caramel-colored leather. A stylized three-panel painting depicting a cattle drive had been mounted on one wall. Perfect.

“Whatever you paid Todd,” I said, “it was worth it.”

“That’s what he told me.” Hardy looked at the bottle appreciatively. “Napa. A mountain wine. I like those, especially the cabs.”

“Did you ever end up going to a wine tasting?” I asked, flushing as I remembered how he had hoisted me up to the table in the wine cellar and stood between my —

“A few.” Hardy set the bottle onto the counter. “I’ve learned a little here and there. Never got the retro-olfaction, though.”

“It’s very subtle. Sometimes it helps if you hold the wine in your mouth and let it warm to your body temperature . . . ” As Hardy moved closer, I completely forgot what I was saying. My gaze went to the tanned skin of his throat, the damp hollow at the base of it.

“So . . .” I said, “I need to get going. I’ll let you take your shower now.” The idea of him naked, with hot water running over all that hard flesh, all that compressed energy, frayed my composure even further.

“You haven’t seen the rest of the apartment,” he said.

“I’m sure it’s great.”

“You should see the bedroom, at least.”

I saw a dance of mischief in his eyes. He was teasing me. “No, thank you.”

Hardy leaned over me, all brawn and hormones, bracing a hand on the wall. “Has anyone ever told you,” he asked conversationally, “that your eyes are the exact color of Dr Pepper?”

I laughed, disarmed. “Do you get far with lines like that?”

He seemed to relish my amusement. “Far enough, with the right woman.”

“I’m not the right woman.”

“You and Todd . . . you been friends for a long time?” I nodded. “Since middle school.”

A frown wove between his dark brows. “You ever go out with him?”

“You mean on a date? No.”

His expression cleared, as if my answer confirmed something he’d been wondering about. “He’s gay, then.”

“Well, no. Todd’s sort of ‘anything goes.’ He’s had relationships with men and women. He’s open to any possibility, because to him the outside of a person is just packaging. It’s a pretty enlightened point of view when you think about it.”

“I’m not enlightened,” Hardy said flatly. “I’m only interested in packaging that includes breasts.” And his gaze dipped briefly to my chest with an interest I found somewhat unwarranted, considering my lack of volume. He looked back into my eyes. “Haven, there’s this thing I’m going to tomorrow night . . . they’re reopening a theater —

“The Harrisburg?” The nationally renowned theater had undergone a year-long reconstruction after the subterranean level had been destroyed by flood waters. The reopening would be attended by local and national celebrities, not to mention the Texas political and social elite. “I’m going to that with Todd.”

“One of my partners made a donation on behalf of our company. So I’ve gotten roped into it.”

I got the impression that Hardy had been about to ask me to go with him. Like on a date. I felt hot and suffocated at the thought. I was not ready for a date with anyone, least of all him. “Maybe we’ll see each other there.” I tried to sound breezy. “But if we don’t happen to cross paths . . . have a great night.”

“You too.”

“Okay. See you later.” I turned and fumbled at the doorknob. He reached around me and grasped it. “Let me get that for you.”