Interior Designs (7 page)

"That's exactly the point, my dear Cathryn. I want to get to know you better. And you're not exactly the most receptive woman I've ever met." The troubled expression on her face worried him, and he softened his tone. "I want us to find out about each other," he said gently. "And we're a topic to be explored in a leisurely manner and with a certain amount of serendipity. Do you know what serendipity is? It's making fortunate discoveries accidentally."

What a line of patter! "I think I'd like another glass of Champagne," she said, refusing to smile at him. She held out her glass.

So she was going to go all frosty on him, was she? He recognized her defense and refused to be daunted by it. There was a way to get around such things, and he knew what it was. It was an unfair tactic at this point, but if she wasn't going to be responsive to the conventional ones, he would have to try another method. He'd gone too far to be rebuffed now.

His eyes found hers and steadied them, and from this connection there grew a meaningfulness that she instantly recognized.
No,
she thought, this was not the way she intended it to be. She'd always been able to turn men off with a look, a drawing away, a stiffness. It was something she'd learned to do, attractive to men as she was. It was something she
had
to do to maintain her career as the most important thing in her life. Few men had ever breached this defense, and few men tried.

Drew reached for her glass, and his fingers against hers created a powerful surge of energy that embarrassed her, though she didn't know why. He gave no hint of noticing, however, and merely set both their glasses down on the table in front of them.

And then he was turning to face her, a soft expression playing across his face. His eyes caught hers, swirling her into their depths like a whirlpool from which there was no escape.

"Ah, Cathryn," he was murmuring close to her ear. She had no idea how he had managed to get so close. "There are certain things that we shouldn't leave to serendipity."

His arms went around her, tucking her against him, and she was aware of her own arms sliding around him, feeling the lithe strength of the muscles beneath his shirt. She wasn't ready for this, she told herself. She shouldn't be quivering in the warmth of his arms, waiting without breathing for what was sure to happen. She shouldn't be, but she was.

And then, purposefully, knowing exactly what he was doing, he touched his lips to hers, and it was as though the whole world opened out to pull in the light of the universe. She felt suddenly illuminated, although the room was growing dark, and the light that surged through her was diffracted as though she were a prism flashing rainbows everywhere. The source of the light was part of her, making her feel the difference between the soft, smooth moistness of his lips and the rougher texture of his tongue, and he was kissing her until the rainbows inside her blended and circled and converged in a place she had never known existed.

His hand cupped the back of her head, urging her closer so that she could better taste the sweet tenderness of his mouth. She felt as though she were drowning. She couldn't breathe, nor did she want to.

He was the first to pull away. She opened her eyes, staring up at him, returning from the depths of her rainbow fantasy. Surely he didn't mean to stop, not now.

His hand remained on her neck, softly stroking, disturbing the wispy tendrils. His eyes were lighted with laughter, but not at her. They expressed the joy within him, a joy he had somehow transmitted to her, and she couldn't help but wonder at it.

"I'd prefer to go on kissing you," he said, his breath warm against her skin. "But I think we'd better stop. According to my sense of smell, we've burned the dinner."

Chapter 4

Wearing terry-cloth oven mitts on both hands, Drew plucked the aluminum pans from the oven rack one by one and set them on top of the stove, assessing each one critically.

"They're ruined," said Cathryn, standing by and feeling helpless.

He regarded the chicken-and-noodles, blackened around the edges, and the spinach souffle, which actually didn't look too bad. A smoky crust edged the escalloped apples.

Suddenly Drew swung into action, delving into a kitchen drawer for a spoon, opening and closing cabinet drawers loudly.

"All we need is a bit of curry powder—ah, here it is—and perhaps some brandy. Do you have brandy?"

His enthusiasm was contagious. "Here's a bottle of Calvados," she said, producing it with a flourish. "What else will we need?"

"A good salad, in case none of this works," he said, and their eyes met over the crisp remains of the escalloped apples and they both laughed.

Cathryn put together a hearty salad and tossed it with her homemade salad dressing. As she cut up the remaining carrots and tomato, she found that she was enjoying herself. Because of the untimely interruption of their scene on the couch, she would have expected things between them to feel strained or ill at ease.

But Drew didn't seem conscious of the fact that he'd disarmed her so completely with only a few kisses. He hummed to himself as he spiked the escalloped apples with a swish of the brandy before tasting his creation.

"Want a taste?" he asked as she skimmed past, bearing the salad to the table.

"Later," she told him breezily, and he turned his attention to the chicken-and-noodles. Cathryn wondered if he was always so easygoing. His sunny nature, for her, was a pleasant surprise. Most men she'd met in Palm Beach wouldn't be caught dead wearing terry-cloth oven mitts, although they might if they knew how attractive a little kitchen sense made them to women.

"Let's finish off that bottle of Champagne," she suggested, fetching it from the living room. She poured as Drew finished tending to the burned casseroles. He deftly transferred them to the fancy serving dishes Cathryn had provided. She wondered if he'd always been this proficient with food or if the knowledge was something he'd had to acquire after his wife left.

She was lighting the candles in the dining room, the glow from the flaming wicks gilding her features, when he carried in the food from the kitchen. His eyes dwelled on her face for a moment before he wisely decided to keep the conversation light.

"Burnt offerings," he said wryly as they sat down.

"Not bad," Cathryn told him, testing her first mouthful of the chicken-and-noodles. "The curry seasoning almost covers up the burned taste."

"Try the apples," he said. "Don't you think the brandy adds something?"

"Definitely," agreed Cathryn after tasting them. "And the extra dash of cinnamon helps, too."

They both sampled the spinach at the same time. They exchanged grimaces.

"I haven't figured out what to do about burned spinach souffle yet," he said. "Unfortunately."

"I have an idea," said Cathryn. "Throw it out."

His eyes met hers in the glow of the candlelight, and they sparkled warmly. She liked laughing with him, she thought to herself. She didn't laugh enough. Now she wanted to linger over dinner, watching the candles melt slowly down to their holders while she got to know him.

And then it hit her: she didn't want to have a good time; she didn't want to admit that he captivated her. It would be all too easy to let this become more than an adventure in serendipity. The chemistry was there, and it was a threat.

Not only that but Drew Sedgwick was another woman's leavings, and this made her cautious. Cathryn liked her personal life the way it was, quiet and uncomplicated. She didn't want to be hurt again.

The smile on Cathryn's face faded, and Drew, in the mood to notice everything about her, picked up on this.

"Why so woebegone?"

"Am I?" She tried to speak nonchalantly, but it wasn't easy with his gaze probing her like that. It made her want to squirm in her chair, to bolt and run. She wasn't about to throw caution to the wind with Drew Sedgwick still an unknown quantity.

The mood throughout the rest of their dinner was tense and edgy. Drew was aware that something had gone wrong. The expression on her face was like an echo of the night of the class reunion when she'd withdrawn and become suddenly remote. This evening she had been so absolutely open and passionate and delightful, just as he'd hoped she'd be, and he was confounded by the sudden switch.

That didn't keep him from trying to salvage the situation, however. He was a master of repartee, and he genuinely and lightheartedly tried to make it easy for her to respond to his banter. But Cathryn remained guarded, afraid to let him get too close.

After dinner, when they self-consciously and politely edged around each other as they cleaned up the kitchen at Drew's insistence, she thought he'd go soon.

"Show me where you work," he said suddenly and surprisingly after Cathryn had hung up the dish towel and latched the dishwasher door with a definite and final click.

"Well, I..." She hadn't expected this. She'd been prepared to fend off amorous advances, but not an interest in her work. His genuine curiosity cast a spell. "I do most of my work at the studio," she said.

"The article in
Palm Beach Parade
painted you as a real workaholic who takes work home every night, slaving until the wee hours of the morning in your home office. Or is that as much of a rumor as the one about the emerald?"

She couldn't help smiling. "Of course not. I do work at home sometimes, but—" Then, her heart escalating at the leisurely way his eyes swept her face, she said, "This way."

She led him down the hall, still in her bare feet and wishing that she'd put her shoes on earlier when she'd had the chance. She could have used the dignity at that point.

Her home office was furnished sparely in contrast to the luxurious furnishings in the other rooms. Drew appraised the room, his eyes resting briefly on the desk crowded with paperwork, the slanted drafting table near the window. "It's not like the rest of your apartment," he said, restlessly exploring the bookshelves, scanning the titles, stopping once to take down a book and flip through it. He studied the framed and matted photos on the wall, professional photos of rooms that Cathryn had designed. Some of the pictures had appeared in glossy magazines like
Home Fantasy
and
Design Weekly.

"I like my office plain, not fancy," she explained with a lift of her shoulders. "It's less distracting." His presence in the room dominated it and seemed almost too much of him in this quiet, simple place. He seemed to shape the room to himself, to electrify it. She wondered if, when he left, he would leave some of himself behind and if she would feel him there when she sat down to work later.

A silly notion, and she shook it off.

He took in her laptop on the desk and design books heaped on the floor. "Do you work here every day?"

"Most days."

"And you work at night?"

"Most nights."

"And after you're through working?"

"I fall into bed, exhausted," she said. And she knew that his next question would be, "Alone?" but he didn't ask it.

Instead, as though afraid that the answer would be too painful, he moved his gaze away.

"What's this?" he asked sharply, inspecting a framed watercolor which hung on the wall.

"Just a picture."

It was a seascape done in delicate pastels. The initials "C.M." were inscribed in the lower right-hand corner.

"Did you paint this?"

"Well, I—yes." She'd given up painting years ago, although she had once entertained the idea of selling her paintings professionally.

"It's very good. Do you still paint?"

She shook her head. "No. I don't enjoy it anymore."

"What
do
you do for fun?"

"Various things. Friends. Lunches. Keeping fit."

"You date?" A much more discreet question than the one he had wanted to ask.

"Sometimes."

"Anyone special?" His eyes pierced into her, trying to divine her answer before it was given.

"Not at the moment." Her breath seemed to have left her lungs. Drew Sedgwick nodded, and for a moment a quiet elation lighted his eyes. His biggest fear—other than total rejection—was that she already had someone.

He turned away from her and lightly touched the fuzzy leaves of an African violet in a clay pot on her desk.