Housebound (8 page)

She stared at him, openmouthed in surprise, and his grin
broadened. “Does that surprise you? I thought I'd been more than clear as to my intentions.”

“Your intention is to seduce and abandon me?” She matched his mocking tone perfectly.

“Oh, Annie love, if only I could,” he sighed, reluctantly releasing his hold on her. “But I think you're not a woman a man easily abandons. And I think if I were wise I'd keep my distance.” He took a small, symbolic step backward, and she felt a chill pass over her at the withdrawal of his body heat.

A shadow blocked the light from the stairs, and Anne jumped guiltily. Noah didn't even turn—he must have been far more aware than she was of the approaching footsteps.

Her sigh of relief was audible when she met the knowing eyes of her brother. “I thought you two might like to know that Holly just drove in,” Ashley said in a bored tone of voice. “I didn't fancy you two being caught
in flagrante delicto
. Holly always had a fiendish temper and the shrillest voice.” He shuddered in theatrical dismay.

“Thank you, Ashley,” Anne said quietly.

“Don't mention it, my dear. Anything for peace and quiet. Come along, Noah.” Despite the lazy tone, there was steel beneath Ashley's banter, a steel to match Noah's resolve.

But Noah's resolve was no match for Anne's dark, pleading eyes and his own better judgment. Running a harassed hand through his thick black hair, he managed a resigned shrug. “Heaven spare me from fiendish tempers and shrill voices,” he said calmly. “Good night, Annie. See you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow
, she thought dismally.
Not if I can help it.
“Good night, Noah, Ashley,” she managed coolly. And retrieving her teacup, she retreated into her bedroom.

“I thought I warned you,” Ashley said sotto voce, his high forehead wrinkled with disapproval.

Noah stood there, his eyes enigmatic as he stared at the closed door. “You did,” he said briefly.

“You don't seem to be paying any attention, dear boy,” he remarked plaintively.

Noah turned to look at him then, and Ashley recoiled from the totally unexpected depths of pain there. “I'm trying, Kirkland,” he said roughly. “I'm trying.”

 

S
TUPID, STUPID, STUPID
, he told himself savagely. Stupid to have gone after her, stupid to have given in to that irresistible temptation, stupid to have gotten involved. And there was no doubt of it—involved he was. Even a self-absorbed dilettante like Ashley Kirkland could see it. Noah Grant was on the edge of making still another mistake, and God only knew who he would hurt this time.

And there was no damned way he could get out of it, no way he could be honest. For a moment he toyed with the idea of waiting till Ashley finished his midnight prowling and went to bed. He could do a little midnight prowling of his own, beard Anne in that small, cozy little lair, and do something lawyers tried their best not to do. He could tell her the truth.

“Listen, Annie love, I'm here to steal your house away from you,” he could say, and watch the light go out of those green eyes of hers. “Your family doesn't care about the house—they'd rather have the money. And if they hurt you in selling it, they've already told themselves that it's all for the best.

“Oh, and I thought while I was here doing this I'd help your sister steal your fiancé, and maybe try and get you in bed myself. I can't seem to keep my hands off you, even though
I'm so tied to the memory of my dead wife that I'm hardly even aware of other women. All I know is that I want you, and what I'll give you in return is absolutely nothing. But let's have sex anyway.”

What would she do? Would she hit him? Would she scream the house down, do everything she could to stop the sale of the white elephant she loved so dearly? Anything she did would only be nuisance value, but as such it could be substantial. And there was nothing he wanted more than to finish this last little favor for his father-in-law and leave. And maybe then Nialla would stop haunting him.

And he needed that far more than he wanted to spare Anne Kirkland. He knew with sudden self-loathing that he wasn't going to tell her what was going on. And he knew with even deeper disgust that chances were he wasn't going to leave her alone. He'd do his best, but sooner or later something was going to happen between them. And knowing that it would cause nothing but pain for her, he was still going to let it happen. Even help it along.

It was no wonder Nialla haunted him. He deserved it, just as he deserved Anne Kirkland's eventual hatred. If he had any claim to decency he'd leave first thing in the morning, keeping well out of Anne Kirkland's way, and never see her again. But at times he suspected decency had left him a long time ago, along with Nialla. And Anne Kirkland, with the soft, delicious mouth, warm body and serene strength was more than he could resist.

The house was mercifully, disappointingly silent when Anne woke up, just after the early-morning sunlight blazed into her windows. It had been hours before she'd finally fallen asleep, and she didn't need to look at her small travel alarm clock to know that she'd have to make do with a very few hours of sleep. She lay there for a few moments more, until suddenly the very silence of the house seemed to press down upon her, and she jumped up, determined to escape.

The last thing she needed was a repeat of yesterday's tête-à-tête. She made her escape in record time, dressing, grabbing her manuscript and sneaking out the kitchen door without even the solace of a cup of coffee. Half an hour later she had made her way along the newly plowed highway and was comfortably ensconced at a back table in the almost deserted all-night diner that was a home away from home, already well into her second cup of respectable coffee, Professor Etling's pontifications on Chinese history coalescing into some sort of sense before her tired eyes.

“Crowded house again, Anne?” Mrs. Mendoza had greeted her serenely. “Take your pick of tables and I'll send some coffee straight over. Not too many people out in all this snow.”

“Bless your heart,” Anne had said in relief. If she hadn't had this one refuge she might very well go mad. “How's Elena doing?”

“Don't ask! She's just about to present me with another grandchild. You'd think she'd learn a little moderation. Stop at four, I told her. But would she listen? Who listens to a mother, anyway? I only hope her five little ones do the same to her.”

Anne stifled the little pang of jealousy that always filled her at news of Elena Mendoza Richardson's proliferation. “She's a better woman than I, that's for sure. How she can manage the children and keep her practice at the same time is beyond me.”

“Let's thank heavens she's an obstetrician—at least her patients know she's got plenty of experience.”

Anne's mind wandered from the Ming dynasty to that conversation. Elena was two and a half years older than she—almost thirty-seven, and she was still having babies. At least Anne and Wilson had agreed on that one thing, even if he hadn't bothered to discuss it with her. But if she wasn't going to marry Wilson, when was she going to have her babies?

She took another sip of her coffee, staring out the windows at the slush-covered highway with its sparse, Sunday morning traffic. Noah had been married. Had he had children, too? She didn't dare ask him—the closed expression on his face last night as Wilson outlined their plans had made an indelible impression. Besides, it was really none of her business. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if he had beautiful babies with curly dark hair and those incredible blue eyes. Were they little Gypsy children, or did they look like his wife? Or like the two of them?

She set the coffee down, spilling a bit into the saucer, and determinedly turned her attention to the manuscript. She had
escaped from the house to concentrate on her work and to put Noah Grant out of her mind. She wasn't being particularly successful at either task.

And there was no question but that Noah Grant had to be banished from her daydreams and night dreams. For all the warmth in those laughing blue eyes, the gentleness of his full mouth, there was a touch-me-not quality to him that came through even in his masterful flirtations. Involvement with a man like him would be disastrously heartbreaking. She didn't need the sexiest man alive to sleep with on a weekend and wonder then if she'd ever see him again. To wait desperately for a phone call or a letter that never came, or even worse, suffer through a stilted meeting when he had lost all interest. Besides, a woman with her limited experience would hardly be able to hold a man like him. He needed a Playboy bunny to warm his bed, not a cloistered saint.

“As a scholar, the Ming dynasty means a great deal in terms of…” She forced herself to read out loud in the small, deserted diner. For a moment the sheer grammatical horror of the sentence distracted her, and she made a vicious little mark on the page. Unfortunately, in her intensity she broke the tip of the pencil, and with a sigh she slammed down the stub. There was no way she was going to be able to concentrate until Noah Grant was safely back in New York and out of her life. That would be sometime this afternoon, and doubtless Holly would have the day's activities carefully planned. She could count on her sister to make it easy for her to avoid those activities. Church could take up most of the morning, and it only required that she be fast on her feet to avoid being alone with him again. And that was exactly what she had to do, no matter how much she wanted to be maneuvered into a
dark corner, as he had threatened, or rather promised, yesterday. Just a few more hours and she could go back to thinking with her head instead of her emotions. And her loins.

The house was still quiet when she finally returned. Church had run long—never had she been so grateful for a lengthy sermon. She had stalled further, chatting with every silver-haired parishioner she had even the mildest acquaintance with, so that it was past one when she tooled her noisy volvo up the rutted driveway, with its rapidly melting layer of slush, admonishing herself on the long drive home that she must be cool, calm and friendly. He certainly didn't take those kisses half as seriously as she did. He couldn't be feeling like a passion-starved adolescent every time she walked into the room.

The kitchen was a shambles when she let herself in the back door, but for once she greeted the mess with equanimity. It could take up to two hours to make it spotless—two hours that would keep her effectively away from Noah Grant. The distant clink of glassware and the murmur of voices drifted down from the main floor, and Anne hesitated, a small, craven part of her wanting to run back outside into the rapidly melting snow and sunshine.

But Anne Kirkland was made of sterner stuff than that. Plastering a bright smile on her face, she strolled up the narrow stairway to the dining room.

“There you are, Anne,” Proffy greeted her with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “You might have let someone know you wouldn't be around for breakfast this morning. We hadn't the faintest idea where you were.”

“Really?” She smiled sweetly as she poured herself a glass of sherry from the sideboard. It certainly wasn't the most amenable house party she'd ever seen seated at the big table.
Ashley's eyes were shadowed and bloodshot, Steve Piersall looked, if possible, even more unhappy than last night, and Holly was staring at her with undisguised curiosity tinged with resentment. Only Noah looked reasonably at ease and happy to see her. Which he had no right to be, after last night. She quickly looked away from that bone-melting smile of his.

“I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you, Proffy,” she said, lying in her teeth. Proffy was in one of his querulous moods she could do without. “You should have known I'd be at church.”

“Church,” Noah echoed curiously, still trying to get her to look at him. “You should have woken me up—it's been a long time since I've been to church.”

Her eyes skidded back to his, then slid away. “What makes you think we'd share the same religion?” she countered.

He grinned, that endearing grin that had the unfortunate tendency to make her knees turn to Jell-O. “I'm flexible.”

“How ecumenical of you, dear boy,” Ashley drawled, and Anne could tell from the slurring in his light voice that he had already had far too much to drink. “Anne, my sweet, we're going to attempt sledding, of all things, before the snow melts completely. The stalwart Wilson has promised to meet us at Robinson's Point in half an hour. I trust you'll accompany us?”

Leaning against the doorway, Anne sipped her sherry, trying and failing to keep her eyes from straying to Noah's curly dark head. “'Fraid not, Ashley. I've got to finish this manuscript or Edmund will strangle me.”

Ashley nodded sagely, knowing as well as she did that Edmund Jolles worshiped the ground she walked on. “Then we won't see much more of you this visit,” he murmured, passing the much-needed information with the infinite tact he was sometimes capable of. “Stephen and I will be leaving at
four, and Holly and Noah expect to go shortly thereafter. Isn't that right, Holly?”

Holly nodded. “Of course, it's up to Noah—after all, it's his car. But it would be helpful if I could get back before it's too late.”

“But what about your car, Holly?” Anne blurted out, that cursed and unfamiliar jealousy flaming forth again. Noah smiled gently at her from across the room, doubtless seeing straight through her.

“She's lending it to Wilson,” he replied before Holly could speak. “Apparently his car will be out of commission for at least a week.”

“That's very kind of you, Holly,” Anne forced herself to say smoothly, blocking out the cozy vision of Holly and Noah sharing the cockpit of some sleek little sports car. “But when will you pick it up again? Don't you have another tour coming up fairly soon?”

“Not for ages.” Holly sighed happily. “I've just managed to persuade Noah to bring me back in several weeks, when spring is a little more on the way. I don't have any use for my car when I'm in the city anyway, and I'd like the excuse to be here when the crocuses are just beginning to come up.”

So she wasn't to be quit of Noah Grant that easily, Anne thought, feeling her stomach do an indelicate lurch and her spirits do a spiral. “How nice,” she said quietly, and, turning on her heel, she disappeared back down into the kitchen.

“These are the times that try men's souls,” she murmured to herself as she drained the sherry and hopped up onto the cluttered counter. A butter wrapper stuck to her dove-gray skirt, and she plucked it away, staring at the greasy spot with listless eyes. A pair of long legs appeared in her vision.

“I wish you wouldn't do that,” she said grouchily,
looking up into Noah's blue, blue eyes. “I always see you before I hear you.”

A fleeting smile lit his dark face. “Church didn't seem to have a very beneficial effect on you. Why are you looking so hassled? I'm sure it won't do any harm for your sainted Wilson to borrow Holly's car. After all, she won't be in it.”

“I'm not worried about that,” she replied, avoiding his gaze by turing to stare back out the window at the melting snow. “You're going to get pretty wet if you go sledding.”

“Don't change the subject.” His hand reached out and caught her stubborn chin, forcing her to turn and face him. “You don't want me coming back here, do you?”

She didn't even hesitate. “No, I don't.”

“Why not?”

“I think you know perfectly well why not. You have a dangerous effect on me, one you're fully aware of and probably cultivate,” she said sternly. “You distract me and upset me, and you'll cause nothing but trouble for both of us.”

There was a long, breathless silence. “You're right, of course,” he said. It was the last thing she expected or, in truth, wanted to hear.

“I am?”

“Absolutely. You're a forever-after kind of woman, and I'm more into hit-and-run,” he said with a self-mocking little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “You want children and a husband and commitment. I can't provide any of those things.”

“Can't or won't?” she asked quietly.

“Won't.” The single word was cold and sharp in her stomach. “The best thing I could do for either of us is to leave you alone.”

“And are you going to?” If her voice was husky, she hoped
he wouldn't notice. He was standing so damned close she could see every thick, beautiful eyelash that fanned out over those extraordinary eyes.

He stared at her for a long, silent moment. “Yes,” he said finally, and Anne felt her heart sink with a thud and her watery knees turn to ice.

“Well, then,” she said briskly, unaware that her green eyes were dark with pain, “that should work out very well.”

“It should.” He stared at her for a timeless moment, then moved a few paces away from her, effectively withdrawing. “Would you like some help cleaning up this mess or would you rather I went sledding with Holly?”

“I'd rather you went sledding with Holly,” she lied. But he took her at her word, nodding absently as he left her alone in the cluttered kitchen.

She watched his retreating back out of mournful eyes. Obviously he was made of sterner stuff than she was, to be able to turn his back so easily on the rampant attraction between them. But then, it could hardly have been that novel an experience for him—he must be strongly attracted to women wherever he went. He wouldn't even imagine what it was like to be prey to such an overwhelming longing that all morality, judgment and even sanity went out the window. He'd be unlikely to even think of her again, while she would remember him every time she read a love scene, smelled cognac and coffee, drank German beer, thought or breathed.

“Damn,” she whispered.

“Are you all right, Annie?” Ashley popped his head in the door, concern for once overlaying his usual ennui.

“Of course I am,” she replied, smiling briskly as she jumped off the counter.

“You're sure?” he persisted, coming into the kitchen to stare at her out of his slightly bloodshot eyes.