Granddad's House (On Geneva Shores) (9 page)

Olivia returned to the table and sat quietly. She raised her head, her face pale, and said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I’m not feeling well. Would it be possible for you to take me home? We’ll have to continue this discussion another time.”

“Of course.” Beau paid the bill, helped her into his car, and tossed her coat and briefcase onto the miniscule bench that served as a backseat.

She opened the side window and closed her eyes. She seemed to him to be trying to regain her senses as the cool evening breeze brought back a semblance of pink to her cheeks. He grinned. So much for a congratulatory dinner with wine. He reached over to pat her hand in a show of sympathy. She jerked away from him and clutched her purse.

When Beau arrived at her town house, he half-walked, half-carried her up to the door. She fumbled with her purse, found the key, and opened the door. “Shall I help you in?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll be fine. Now.”

“Are you sure? You don’t look fine.”

But she fluttered one hand at him. “Good-bye. I’ll talk to you—” she gulped “—later.” She shut the door in his face. He heard footsteps moving rapidly away.

He returned to his car and drove to the complex on the shore of the lake. His business office was on the main floor, his condo on the top floor. He changed out of his business suit and into a pair of chinos and a cashmere sweater. It was a reminder of last year’s trip to Scotland to attend his sister’s wedding, the last time he’d seen her and his brother, Paul, on leave from his outfit in Afghanistan. He flipped on the sound system, and pulled a chair onto the balcony to watch the moon ascend over Lake Geneva.

Olivia,
Livvy
. How long will it take for me to get to know you better?
In spite of his earlier misgivings after the Heidi debacle, he was enchanted by the standoffish realtor and eager to explore a personal relationship with her. Was it because he was chasing her and not the other way around, Heidi-like? His father had once told him the most greatest rewards came from the greatest challenges. He chuckled. Olivia seemed to fit the bill. A challenge, anyway, and he suspected she might also be the kind of woman
he
needed. Too bad he didn’t have a grandmother who thought like Mr. Robert Brown, someone wanting the best kind of woman for her grandson, Beau.

He
’d considered the merits of securing a buyer’s agent before going to that open house and then decided he’d learn more if he approached the listing agent directly. He hadn’t expected to be so attracted to Olivia Brown, whom he suspected drew a line between a business acquaintance and a personal relationship.
I’ll just have to work around it, and the fact that I’m not the buyer she was looking for.
Olivia was a challenge, in more ways than one, but he’d never shied away from a contest of wills. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to confuse the business issue with the desire he felt for her.

An hour after he arrived home and sometime after he closed his eyes for a brief postprandial snooze, pounding on the door of his condo roused him from his chair. He opened the door.

Olivia’s long red curls were tousled, as if she’d fallen into bed and then climbed out again without brushing her hair into submission. Tousled like he would like to do, given half the chance. She was no longer in her business suit. Instead, she wore a pair of jeans with a rip across one knee, and a University of Washington sweatshirt that must have been washed many times. Maybe that explained its tired lilac-gray patina. No bra by the look of things. And she was in flip-flops that showed off her red-topped toenails.

“Olivia.”

She stepped inside before he could say more or prevent her from entering, not that he wanted to.

She momentarily listed slightly to one side as if she was going to fall over. He reached out to prevent her from doing so. “Something I can do for you?” Ideas immediately came to mind, but he mentally swatted them away.

“My briefcase. You have it. I want it. Now.” Her eyes snapped. “And my coat.”

“Your briefcase and coat? You had them at the restaurant.” He looked around. “I don’t recall bringing them home …” Then he remembered. “Oh. Just a minute.” He left her standing at the door and headed for the kitchen alcove, to the wall hanger where he always placed his keys. Just as he turned around to face her, she bumped into him, a full-body bump from her chest to her knees, and then she bounced off and started to fall sideways.

His arms reached out to pull her upright. Before he quite knew how he managed it, his head went down and met hers as it was coming up. Their lips met in the middle, and a zing of heat flooded his body.
Zounds!

Her eyes widened, and she pulled abruptly away from him, bounced into the wall behind her and ricocheted forward in his direction again. This time, he was ready and when her arms came up, he couldn’t tell and didn’t care if she was trying to fend him off or grab for him. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her again, longer this time. Within seconds, she was kissing him back. He savored the taste of her, detecting peppermint and some other flavor he couldn’t quite place that was equally as pleasant. He relished the feel of her, how his body was reacting,
and how very much he wanted to continue his exploration of her mouth.
Zoning be damned.
She was hot and generating similar flames in him.

After a too-short minute, her palms pressed against his chest and she pushed him away, her eyes world-sized blue pearls in her pale face. That kiss seemed to have waked her up but good. Him, too.

“What exactly do you think you are doing? I came here for my briefcase—and—and—and my—my—my coat.”

“Oh.” He felt dazed. “Yes. Of course.” His eyes took her in like he wanted to with his arms. “I’ll check my car.”

He leaned down for his keys, which had somehow clattered onto the kitchen floor in the ensuing entanglement of arms and lips. “If you’ll follow me.”

Which she did, but not too closely. He debated taking the stairs to the parking garage rather than fight his impulse to pull her into his arms in the elevator and decided she’d never make it the way she’d been weaving like an unsteady boat in a choppy sea. Instead, she pressed into a corner of the elevator, her back stiff. He reluctantly assumed a similar position on the opposite side, hoping she might fall. It would be the perfect excuse to pull her into his arms again. She managed to remain upright the entire ride to the parking garage. When he reached his car, he handed over her coat and briefcase. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” She turned and left via the door at street-level as suddenly as she had appeared, the rapid sound of her flip-flops against the pavement mimicking the thumping of his heart.

When he returned to the balcony of his condo, he sat in the chair for another hour, not quite sure how he was going to concentrate when he saw her next, presumably to discuss the zoning and permit issue that he suspected her grandfather had used to bring them together. Beau smiled.

What would Miss Olivia do when she saw him again? And how could he get her to relax in his company, so that maybe they could kiss again, not as an accident the next time? No question about it. He wanted it. And he had a strong hunch she did, too.

Chapter 6

Olivia drove home from Beau’s condo, her embarrassment still acute at having had more than a half-glass of wine and what it had done to her, when combined with the too-large meal. She should never have tried to eat so much, drink so much. How many glasses was it? Two, three? She’d taken too many sips and he’d kept filling her glass. Her belly still felt bloated and her temples throbbed, even when she squinted to reduce the glare from oncoming car lights. Thank goodness traffic was light to nonexistent on the nearly-empty streets and she could creep along without worrying about being so far under the speed limit
. But I had to get my briefcase,
she scolded herself
,
as if that was excuse enough
.

Beau’s business card had told her where he worked and a nice man at the elevator pointed her to the directory she’d flounced past when she’d entered the building.  She hadn’t thought past what she would do if he wasn’t in his office. Why would he be there anyway, when it was after nine? She hadn’t been thinking clearly. Maybe she wasn’t thinking at all. How convenient that he lived upstairs—above the store, so to speak. Something Granddad would approve of.

But the man was incorrigible. Making her drink all that wine and then taking advantage like that!
Except she was the one who had emptied her glass when she had vowed to drink only half. And she shouldn’t have eaten all that food, but she’d been so hungry, ravenous actually.
For what?
Food?
Or something else?
Maybe him?
The way he’d looked at her over dinner, as if he longed for something. A kiss, maybe?
And then what he’d done when she practically fell into his arms… after backing into the wall… after she made the mistake of following him too closely. Okay, maybe that first kiss was an accident, but the second one? He must have planned it.
Her heart raced as she relived the moment.
Did I really kiss him back?
She must have imagined that. Of course, she wouldn’t have. He was a client.
She never kissed her male clients. But what if she had?
What
is
the matter with me? What
was
I thinking?!
Nerves, that’s what it was. He’d taken advantage of her edginess. And wasn’t that just like a man?

But his partner had seemed nice. He’d looked vaguely familiar when he’d arrived at the restaurant with the zoning materials. Maybe she would speak to him about the zoning and permits—instead of Mr. James. So she wouldn’t have to look at him, so she wouldn’t be tempted. Except she was. He was a world-class temptation.

She waited for the garage door to close behind her car and plodded into her little town house. Her cheeks still burned, like her middle, and not just from the food. All she could think about was her collision with Beau. That kiss. Both of them, actually. Like nothing she’d ever felt with Ned, that was for sure. She took a deep breath. She dared to glance in the mirror as she entered her bedroom.

“Oh,
lordy, I look terrible.” She groaned. “I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again.” But the offer on Granddad’s house required that she see him. And she had to admit she actually
wanted
to kiss him, just once more. To see if the experience was as mind-blowing when she was stone-cold sober. She’d always loved science. It would be an experimental kiss.

But that would never happen. She couldn’t let it. He was a client.

What was his partner’s name? Greg, Jordan, Jeff? Where was that business card?
I’ll call his office first thing tomorrow and talk to the secretary. She’ll tell me.
Maybe she would ask his partner to be her contact for the rest of the negotiations.

She shuffled into the bathroom to take a shower before falling into bed.

Was it only minutes after she fell asleep that the phone began its insistent ringing?  She rolled over, her eyes still shut, and pawed for the annoying thing on her nightstand. It had to be the middle of the night. Her nose was stuffed and her mouth felt like cotton. What was that pounding in her temples? 

“’Ullo?” She rolled onto her back.

“Good morning, Olivia.” The voice was disgustingly cheery. “Beau James here.”

Oh. God. That cheerful voice.
As if I didn’t know. Don’t you ever sleep?
She opened one eye and was surprised to see light slanting through the miniblinds. She squeezed both eyes tighter.
It can’t be morning already.

“I just thought I’d call before you were swamped with early morning business calls—so we can set an appointment to go over that zoning and permit material I gave you last night.”

She squinted in the direction of the clock radio and waited for her eyes to focus, dismayed at the time. How could she have slept so late? Why hadn’t the clock buzzed?

“And it’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and there’s a light breeze, perfect for the sailboats on the lake. I just saw a couple head out from the dock while I was eating breakfast.”

She stifled a groan and pulled the covers over her face, the phone still pressed to her ear. “Good for you. I don’t make appointments before I’ve had my morning coffee. Good-bye.”

She lay back for a moment before her eyes flew open and she flung off the covers.
How did he get this number?
He’d called her home phone. She sat up then fell back onto the pillow at the pounding in her temples. It was too early to get up. She rolled over and closed her eyes.

Then she heard the birds. She peeked in the direction of her window. Even with the blinds closed, she could see that he was right. It was a beautiful summer day. The sun cast slices of light
across her bed. She rolled back the other way just as the radio clicked on and a newscaster began reeling off a litany of bad news—at least ninety minutes later than usual. She must have reset it last night.

Might as well get up. I’ll never get back to
sleep now.
And she had a world-class headache. Grab the Tylenol quick and try to head it off. The disastrous meal of the night before came to mind as she gulped down two Tylenol tablets. Funny, her growling stomach seemed to have forgotten. Her hair was a mess. She must have neglected to use those big curl straighteners when she emerged from the shower last night. She reached for her brush and set it down again.
Coffee.
She would get that going first before she tackled her hair.

After a light breakfast, she felt better. On the table near the door was her purse, its contents partially spilled onto the table. She rummaged for Beau’s business card among the rest of the detritus and flipped open her cell phone.

“Good morning. James and Dunston Architects. This is Fiona. How may I help you?”

That lovely Irish voice, ever so welcoming. Did Beau require
everyone
in his office to be cheerful early in the morning?

“Hello, Fiona. This is Olivia Brown. I was wondering if I might meet with Mr. Dunston, to talk over some zoning issues.” One fingernail went into her mouth and she nibbled her nail.

“For what property would this be?”

“The Victorian on Highland Street. The owner’s name is Brown.”  She heard some clacking of keys in the background.

“That would be Mr. James’s project.”

Project, eh? Is that what he calls it? A project? As if he already owns it?
“That may be, but I’d prefer to speak with Mr. Dunston, if I may.”

“One moment, please.”

Olivia heard mumbling in the background and what she thought might be laughter.
Who
was laughing at her? She narrowed her eyes as she stared at the phone.

Fiona, with the Irish lilt, spoke again. “Ms. Brown, Mr. Dunston says he’ll be happy to see you this morning. He has an opening at nine. Or perhaps you prefer a later time?”

Olivia glanced at the clock.
Doable. Just barely.
“Thank you. I’ll see him then.” 

She retreated to her bedroom to shower and dress. Once in her car, she called the office.

“Genevieve. I’m going to be late this morning. If anyone needs me right away, see if Bruce or Mickie can help them until I get there. I don’t know how long this meeting is going to last. Or just have them leave me a message. I’ll return my calls later.”

“Your grandfather checked in. He asked if you would give him a ring when you have a minute.”

“I’ll get back to him.”

Out of the garage and back to that high-rise complex. At least she knew the way. She thought of her father, who had died at his desk. The doctor had said it was a massive stroke. Her dad had been only fifty. Everyone had said he was far too young to die. Would she still be working when she died? Must be the headache talking. She squeezed her temples while stopped at a red light.

The business was in good shape. Except for this mess with Granddad’s house. Why hadn’t she insisted that he start looking for another place the minute he agreed to sell his home? But Granddad had waved her off at that suggestion, and she’d interpreted his hesitation to mean he was still battling his emotions, so she hadn’t pushed it. If Beau James prevailed, would Granddad really want to move into one of the duplexes Beau planned to build in the back of the property near his beloved gardens, gardens he had tended as long as she could remember? But how long would he have to wait until the renovations were completed?

The thought of visiting her grandfather there tightened the knot in her stomach. Better to make a clean break, even if it meant no longer seeing his gardens or sitting under the big trees on a warm summer day.

She sighed.
I need to tell him about some nice places to live, maybe one of the complexes with people his own age.
Some of them had garden spaces. One even maintained a greenhouse for the residents to use in the winter months. Hadn’t she seen a flyer on one of those listings recently? She’d double-check when she returned to the office.

Olivia found a parking place in front of the architecture office, and sat for a moment, trying to soothe her nerves, which seemed on edge. At least, her headache seemed to be receding.
She had two minutes to spare. Good.
I’ll just chill first and gather my thoughts.

George rose from his seat when Olivia entered his private office wearing a burgundy suit complemented by a pale pink v-neck blouse, her hair a frothy gathering on top of her head. She looked slightly windblown.
You are a real beauty, you are. No wonder Beau’s so taken with you.
He smiled and shook her hand. “I’m happy to review what we know, Ms. Brown, but shouldn’t my partner be meeting with you? After all, he’s the one who made the offer on the Highland Avenue property.”

She placed her purse on a nearby table before speaking. “I thought it best to talk with you, since you were the one who brought those papers to us—me—last evening. At the restaurant. If you don’t mind.”

She opened her briefcase and pulled out the documents she had collected at the county office along with the ones George had delivered. “Why don’t you summarize what you already know, what the permit people told you about what you want to do?” she asked.

“I’ll be happy to.” He proceeded to do so for the next half-hour, illustrating his comments with more detailed sketches he pulled out of a drawer designed to hold architectural drawings.

Olivia asked questions throughout his presentation.

When he finally stopped talking, he looked up at her and smiled. “Do you believe all this detail will be helpful to your grandfather as he considers the offer?”

She nodded, looking bleak. “May I have copies of the more detailed plans to show him?”

“Certainly. Let me have Fiona take care of that.” He left with the papers in hand and returned shortly thereafter with the copies neatly rolled in a tube. “Here you are.” He paused. “You look like you have another question. Maybe more than one?”

She sat back in her chair. “What other projects has your firm completed? You know, where older homes or buildings were involved?”

Smart girl.
I was hoping you’d ask.
“Quite a few, actually. Let me get you a list.” He spoke to Fiona, who brought him a brochure of properties the firm had renovated. “Those most like your grandfather’s property are this one, and this … and one more close by.” He checkmarked three properties on the list. “Feel free to drive by. If you’d like to see the interior spaces so you can evaluate what we did, I’m sure I can arrange that with the owners. We make a point to stay in touch with our clients after the work has been completed. There are some others on this list that are now commercial enterprises—offices and the like—but the three I marked are still used as residences.”

“I’ll get back to you if he wants to see them. Thank you, Mr. Dunston.”

“Call me George. I know Beau looks forward to hearing from your grandfather.”

“Please tell him I’ll be in touch.” She turned toward the door.

“He doesn’t have to do that, Olivia. You can tell me yourself.” Beau leaned against the doorjamb and smiled at her. “Morning, George.”