Granddad's House (On Geneva Shores) (22 page)

She’d thought Beau was so much better than that. In the love-making department, no question. No comparison. In the real, commitment kind of loving, too. At least she’d thought he was … would be. Only maybe he wasn’t. Maybe what he’d wanted was just
to … Maybe she’d misjudged him and herself. Well, she wasn’t going to let him use her like that. She deserved better—he’d said so himself. She caught her breath before she started to cry. She took a deep breath.
I won’t cry. He doesn’t deserve my tears.

She slipped on her flip-flops as she headed for the stairs, drove directly to the architecture office, and saw that the lights were on. Without knocking first, she pushed open the outer door to his office. A stranger was sitting in the conference room across the table from Beau, examining architectural plans. She stopped dead in her tracks when Beau looked up at her and smiled. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, his tie pulled over to one side, and dark chinos, clothes he’d not been wearing the night before.

A business meeting. Oh. My. God.
And I must look so scruffy. Why didn’t I at least get my hair under control?

Beau rose abruptly from his chair. “Olivia. Come in. I—”

Her heart pounded as she looked over at the other man, obviously a client. “I—I’m so sorry …”

Beau pulled the door shut behind him and angled her into George’s empty office.

She glared at him. “Since when do you—since when—”

He interrupted her, his voice low, urgent. “As you can see, I’m in the middle of a business meeting.” He pointed toward the wall adjoining the offices. “Will you wait here? My client is about ready to leave. Then we’ll talk.”

He shut the door before she could leave, and she heard him continue his conversation with the other man, whose voice was so low and muffled she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Only Beau’s voice was clear.

“I’m sorry, Glen … Where were we? Oh, yes … I’ll bring the revised plans over tomorrow … so you can see how we’ll handle … and if you’d like, we can continue this conversation later when your partners are back in town … Yes … Thanks for coming in.”

The outer door of his office opened and closed and the door to George’s office swung open. Beau came in and reached for her, a wide grin on his face, his gaze heated.

She backed away from him, her voice shaking with anger. “You left. Exactly what—how did you—what was last night all about for you to leave like that? You didn’t even leave me a note.”

She paced in the office, wanting to walk away from him, unable to do so now that he was standing at the door, leaning against it with his arms crossed across his chest, watching her, blocking her way.

“I know—it was a one-night stand, right? Something you decided you wanted to do just be—
bec—because—”
Damn my tongue!

He took a giant step toward her and kissed her into silence, holding her arms to her side so that she couldn’t push him away. “Of course not. I had an early appointment this morning. You were still asleep. You looked so lovely. I didn’t have the heart to wake you. How could you possibly think that’s all it was—what we had, what we have?”

Her tears stopped him from carrying through with what she wanted him to do.

She backed away from him and put her head in her hands, shaking her head. “Don’t touch me. Don’t.” When she finally raised her head to look at him, she knew he saw her pain, her confusion.

“Olivia,” he whispered. “I have no intention of calling what we had last night anything other than the most beautiful, wonderful … It wasn’t anything like a one-night stand. Did you honestly think I was going to use you and toss you away? I could never do that. I never wanted to leave this morning, but I had this appointment. I should have called and cancelled it, but I wasn’t thinking about it last night. All I could think about was you. Only you.” He gathered her into his arms a second time. This time she let him hold her and rock her.

Into her right ear he murmured, “How could we make love like we did last night if that’s all it was? It was no one-night stand,
darlin’. It was our first night together. I’m in love with you. Don’t you know that?”

She froze in his arms when she realized what he had said, then melted as he drew her closer. Before long, she was kissing him and he was returning her kisses. She started to pull his shirt out from his waistband, the better to touch his heated skin, but he stopped her. 

“If you want to talk—or whatever,” his voice vibrating with sexual tension, “let’s go upstairs. We happen to be in George’s office.” He chuckled. “And he’ll be jealous as hell if he suspects we made love on his desk.”

She giggled. “He would know that?” Even with her gaze still blurring from her tears, she thought Beau was the most beautiful man. She wanted him now even more than last night, when she couldn’t seem to get enough of his touch, his tenderness, his arousal, and how he made her feel.

“He’d probably be able to tell just by looking at me. And I’d never be able to come in here to talk business without thinking about us and what we had done.” He stroked her face and brushed her hair off one cheek.

She grinned then nodded. “Your place. Granddad told me it was nice.”

He locked the office and they went upstairs to his condo, hugging and kissing as the elevator ascended. For the first few minutes in his place, she briefly reverted to realtor mode, checking out the rooms and the little extras he pointed out to her. While he stood on the balcony and waited for her, she went into the bathroom to wash her face.

She opened the sliding glass door to join him and cleared her throat to get his attention. When he turned around, she was wearing his robe. He reached for her and she opened it just enough to reveal what she was not wearing. He slid his hands onto her skin and pulled her close. Then he led her into his bedroom and she removed his tie, and then his shirt, followed soon after by the rest of his clothes.

“Has anyone ever told you what a gorgeous body you have?” she murmured in between kisses and caresses as they lay next to each other.

“Isn’t that what I said to you last night?” He grinned back at her, his eyes seeming to caress her. “I never talk about previous—Olivia, you’re getting me started again—partners.” He brought his hands out from under his head and reached for her. “And I can’t stand not participating—in—what—you’re—doing.” He rolled over and began kissing her as his hands slid down her body, taking little detours before arriving at her inner thighs. “I just want to think about you. That’s all I can think about, all I ever want to think about.” He covered her mouth with his, effectively preventing her from asking any more questions.

Through the rest of the morning their love-making was slow and languorous until she was so eager for its consummation that she could think of nothing else but pleasing him and in so doing, pleasing herself. They slept in each other’s arms for hours, finally waking when his phone rang.

When he rolled over to answer it, she listened as he told George the morning meeting had gone well and that he thought they’d landed another big account. When the call was concluded, he rolled back toward her and suggested they have lunch … or was it breakfast.

“Let’s call it brunch,” she suggested, brushing his hair off his forehead.

She delighted in the two-headed shower in the master bath. She had tilted back her head to allow the water to stream through her hair when his arms slid around her to cup her breasts.

“Give me the soap so I can wash your back,” he murmured.

“But your hands aren’t anywhere near my back,” she said.

“They will be. Your front needs sudsing, too.” He spread the soap on her body before she did the same for him, and they made love again while the water rinsed them off.

“You are incredible,” she announced when they stepped out onto the terry towel he had placed on the tile.

“Speak for yourself, woman. Who was it who asked when we might do it again last night?” He chuckled.

She grinned back at him and began wrapping her curls in a towel.

He kissed the end of her nose. “I’ve never shared my shower with anyone else. When your grandfather was up here, he suggested I try it out. Want me to tell him you helped me take him up on his suggestion?” he smirked.

“Don’t you
dare!” Her skin grew warm at the thought. “Well, maybe you could tell him, but not that it was with me.”

“You’re no fun,” he replied. “But I promise. It’ll be our secret.”

They ate on the balcony, he in a pair of cargo shorts, she with a towel wrapped around her body as she sun-dried her hair.

“Do you have to go home?” he asked as the sun began its descent and she rose from her chair.

She sighed. “I really don’t want to leave, but I have a big day at the office tomorrow—and no business clothes here.”

“If you don’t want to leave, don’t,” he said. “I want you here with me, in my bed every night, every day. Stay here with me.”

She looked at him for several minutes, desire warring with her sense of duty and propriety.

“You’re thinking about what your grandfather will say,” he finally declared.

She was silent. “That, too.” She rose from her seat. “I need to go home and think this through. I need some time. This all happened so fast—”

“Correction, my sweet. You and I—we’ve been moving in this direction for months. But I understand. I’ll give you time. Not too much time, but—”

He would have said more, but her mouth on his stopped him. She went into the bedroom and dressed, her reluctance obvious. He accompanied her in the elevator and saw her out. When she waved to him from her car, he had returned to the office and was keyboarding notes, probably on the meeting she had almost crashed.

She smiled to herself, wondering what the old codger he’d been meeting with would have thought, had he known how close he had come to observing her telling Beau off, calling theirs a one-night stand.

As she drove home, she rubbed the last spot on her face where she’d felt Beau’s lips. How long could she stand to wait before agreeing to move in with him? And what would her grandfather think of her if he knew what had happened—all because she had kept her promise to take Beau to Mount Rainier?

Chapter 13

Later that week, Genevieve rose from her desk when Olivia entered the office.

“I know I’m late. What’s on tap for today?”

“Helen Reynold’s ex-husband should be here within the hour. And, Beau.” The receptionist pointed in the direction of Olivia’s office.  “He’s here already. He insisted on sitting in your office.” Genevieve blushed. “Personally, I would have preferred that he sit out here so I could indulge in eye-candy fantasies, but he convinced me otherwise.” One hand moved as with a fan.

Olivia looked away, hoping Genevieve couldn’t see her face. Olivia was sure her cheeks were beyond pink.

“I’ll talk to him. Could you call Melanie and have her come in when the ex-husband arrives? Have the police been notified? They’ve been looking for him.”

“Melanie asked me to hold off calling them until after the meeting. That is, unless it gets ugly. She talked with Dave’s attorney and agreed to give the ex-husband a chance to show that he’s going to behave. Just hit the panic button if you need them. I asked two of our guys to stick around, too, just in case. Frank’s presenting an offer, but Bruce and
Mickie came in about an hour ago. I’ll let Melanie know you’re here.”

Olivia entered her office. Beau was looking out the larger of the two windows, his back to her.

“Is there something I can do for you?” She sank into her desk chair, trying to keep her voice cool, calm, professional. She felt shaky, wanting to put her arms around him, wanting him to do the same for her, just plain aching for him. How many hours had it been since he’d left her town house? More importantly, her bed?

When he swung around to face her, his brow was wrinkled.  “We have a small problem, Olivia. Actually, potentially a bigger problem. I’m hoping you can help me solve it.”

“What’s that?”

“I misspoke. Two problems.” His eyes seemed to be sparking at her.

Genevieve was right. Eye candy, indeed. “Okay. Enlighten me. What’s problem number one?”

“You. Me. My ability to concentrate is seriously impaired by images of you in my head. I see only one solution to that particular problem.” He approached her desk, leaning so close he was nose to nose with her.

She froze in her seat, using all her control not to reach up and grab him.
Dad would fire me if he knew what I want to do right here in this office.
The scent of Beau’s aftershave wafted in her direction. She sucked in her breath, the better to savor it. When she closed her eyes, his lips met hers. He held himself there for a long minute.

When he straightened up, he shook his head. “Well, that didn’t help at all.”

“And you expected it to?” She hated that he had moved back so that she couldn’t feel his touch, just out of reach.

“You’re going to have to move in with me, or maybe I should move in with you. That’s the only solution I can think of for problem number one.” His tongue circled his lips as if still tasting her.

She came out of a heated fog and sat back slowly in her seat in an attempt to behave like the businesswoman she was. If only her heart would stop thumping and her stomach would quit fluttering. “You, ah, you said you had two problems. What’s the second one? Maybe that’s easier to manage than the first?”

He seemed to frown before replying. “Your grandfather.”

She straightened in her chair, immediately alert at his words and to the way he was looking so solemn. “What about him?”

“He was at the big house yesterday. George says he’s been coming over almost every day for the past week. Most of the time he just sits on the front porch. The other day when the contractors were inside making minor structural repairs, he came in and followed them around, asking questions.”

She pursed her lips. That didn’t sound like Granddad. He hadn’t mentioned visiting his old house. “I’ll speak to him.”

Beau traced imaginary circles on the nearby table. “I don’t want him injured. We’re going to be tearing out the old kitchen and doing some work in the upstairs bathrooms, too. If he’s there when the contractors are trying to work …”

“Did you talk to him when you saw him yesterday?”

He nodded. “He didn’t seem to recognize me at first. Then, when I called him a second time, he gave me a wave, and said he just wanted to check our progress.”

“His hearing isn’t always the best. Sometimes he doesn’t put in his hearing aid, or turn it up.” She rose from her chair and walked around the desk.  “You could have, uh, called in this particular problem.” When he stood up, she slipped her arms around him.

“Maybe. But then we wouldn’t be able to do this.” He lifted her chin, ducked his head down, and their lips met again, sending scorching heat down to her toes.

Her heart galloped along with the steady beat of his heart, a rhythm against her breast that beat a tune she so wanted to continue. A small part of her brain dared to intrude.
Not professional. Not for the office. I should care, but I don’t. Not anymore. Sorry, Dad.

He loosened her grasp and smiled. “Maybe I should come over tonight? Or would you rather meet me at my place?”

Every night—wherever.
“I wish. I scheduled a meeting with my CPA for this evening. The original meeting—I cancelled it earlier, if you recall.” Only today she’d become aware that her visit to Mount Rainier—and how she’d been spending most evenings—had interfered with her usual after-hours work activities. She gave him a little smile. “Usually Elliott and I meet over dinner and work into the evening. It might be late by the time we’re done.”

He nodded. “Let me know if you change your mind, or your meeting ends early.”

She opened the door. Beau gave her a mock salute. “Thank you for your assistance, Ms. Brown. I’ll be in touch.”

Her eyes followed him until they collided with the arched eyebrows of Genevieve, who winked at her and mouthed quietly, “Be still my heart.”

Less than five minutes later, Melanie and Helen entered, followed by the man whose frown told Olivia all she needed to know about the forthcoming meeting. Helen’s ex.
Now what?

“I’m sorry, Olivia—” Melanie began.

“Come on in, everyone. Hello, Helen. Nice to see you again, Mr. Reynolds.” Olivia extended her hand to the man who fidgeted near her desk. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

Helen sat. Her ex-husband ignored Olivia’s hand and remained standing, beads of sweat on his forehead, his eyes nervously scanning the room, avoiding his ex-wife, glaring first at Olivia then at Melanie, and back again.

“No,” his voice grated. “I don’t want to sit. Why haven’t you done what I told you?”

Olivia willed herself to pause before replying.
Stay calm. Be firm.
“What do you mean?” She motioned for Melanie to take a seat, which she did, gingerly.

“Don’t you people talk to one another? I made it very clear to Melanie here—and to Helen. My house has to sell for five hundred thousand and not a penny less.”  His voice rose as he began to pace about the room, starting at the door then walking toward the large window and over to Olivia’s desk and back again in a kind of jerky triangular path. 

“Melanie tells me
you
—” he pointed at Olivia—“approved an offer for just under four hundred. Are you going to make up the difference? Less than four hundred is unacceptable.”

Olivia counted to ten.
Good buyers, too. The O’Hara’s who’d first made an offer on Granddad’s house.
“Mr. Reynolds, Melanie listed the house for … how much was it, Melanie?”

“Four hundred ten thousand. That’s what the comps told us. The market just doesn’t support five hundred thou—”

Dave interrupted. “I don’t care what the market wants! It’s what
I
want, what
I
need. I told you that. You
and
Helen.” The man’s thick arms rose and he looked as though he was going to hit something or someone.

“Mr. Reynolds, please, have a seat. What Melanie meant by that is, we don’t set a sale
price. We
recommend
an asking price, but it’s the buyer who brings an offer—”

“You aren’t listening!” His face turned deep red, the veins clearly visible in his neck.

Olivia felt for the silent alarm button near her right knee and pushed it once, glad that her father had installed it after the long-ago episode of the man with a gun.

Melanie was crying quietly into her hands, having eased out of her chair to edge toward the window seat. She sidled away from Helen and Dave, as if seeking to put as much distance as possible between herself and them in the crowded office.

Bruce and Mickie entered the office. She tried not to show her relief at their entrance.

“Bruce,
Mickie. Do you know Mr. Reynolds? He used to be the owner of the house at—”

“I
am
the owner—regardless of what those shyster lawyers say,” Dave interrupted, before moving away from the two men who now stood on either side of him. He glared at one then the other before asking, “What do
you
want?”

“I’d like you to sit down, Mr. Reynolds. It’s my understanding that you quit-claimed the house to Helen,” Olivia continued as she shuffled her feet behind her desk. “When the transaction closes, you’ll receive half of the net proceeds. When is that happening, Melanie?”

Melanie wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. “We’re waiting for the final appraisal.”

Olivia nodded. “Mr. Reynolds, I asked Bruce and
Mickie in here because you seem—well, you seem upset. If you would please sit down, we can continue this conversation in a civil manner.”

The man looked over at the men and slowly took a seat next to Helen. He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave her a quick sidelong glance.

Better.
Olivia forced herself to look calm, cool.
Dad, I wish you were here
. “Thank you, Mr. Reynolds. Now. An offer was made and accepted on your former home and the closing is scheduled—what is that date, Melanie?”

“Two weeks, assuming the appraisal supports the offer. And it’s a good offer, Dave. Close to what we were asking, and a very nice family, too,” she added, as if her forced cheeriness would satisfy the man.

Olivia gave him a quick smile, hoping she, too, looked encouraging. “A good offer and closing in two weeks. That means you’ll receive your money in two weeks. Isn’t that what you want?” She turned away briefly, opened a desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper.

Melanie gasped and gave a little scream.

“What the hell?” Bruce exclaimed.

Olivia looked up. Dave Reynolds was on his feet again, one hand waving a gun at her head.
Mickie grabbed the man’s other arm. Bruce rushed between Olivia’s desk and the chair Dave had been occupying, knocking him forward. His gun hand now pointed directly at Olivia’s chest.

Time seemed to descend into a kind of extra-slow motion tableau. Olivia dove under her desk and hit the silent alarm three times, the signal for Genevieve to summon the police.

She counted the seconds. The gun fired once, setting her ears ringing and shattering  the antique vase on the bookcase behind her desk. From under the desk, Olivia watched the feet of two men moving in a kind of grotesque dance before Bruce—it had to be him in those awful red Converse’s he insisted on wearing—succeeded in knocking Dave to the ground. The gun clattered to the floor.

“Let me go,” Dave yelled.

“Not on your life!” Bruce shouted.

Olivia watched another foot shod in high-gloss leather—
Mickie’s?—kick the gun toward the far wall, well out of Dave’s reach. Someone—maybe Melanie?—was screaming.

When Olivia slowly raised her head above the level of her desk, Dave appeared to be buried under Bruce and
Mickie. Helen was hugging Melanie, who was curled up in a ball under the conference table, shaking and sobbing. Olivia reached for her chair and managed to haul herself into it before her legs turned to rubber. She tried to catch her breath as it raced at warp speed. So much for remaining calm.

The door burst open and four policemen crowded into the room, suddenly entirely too small for all the people. One of the officers tossed questions at her while
Mickie and Bruce growled at Dave to stop fighting and lie still. Melanie was now crying harder.

Olivia recognized one of the officers.
Sam Hudson.
From that first little episode at Helen’s house. Everyone seemed to be talking at once.

An older officer blew his whistle, its shrillness carrying above the cacophony. Silence ensued, broken only by Melanie’s sniffling.

“Sam,” said the officer who seemed to be in charge. “Why don’t you take her”—he pointed to Melanie— “outside and get her statement?” He pulled handcuffs from behind his back and secured Dave’s arms before hauling him into a chair and brushing off the assistance of the male realtors. “You men,” he ordered, waving in Mickie’s and Bruce’s direction, “can leave. This room, not the office. We’ll talk with you later. Officer Valenti here will take your statements. Mrs. Reynolds, why don’t you go with them, too?”