Lady Moonlight (4 page)

"You didn't have a professional do it?"

"Oh, he's in the business,"she said blithely. "Listen," she said, stopping near an octagonal fishpond, "you don't have to come all the way with me." After digging in her small evening bag, she pulled out her key and flourished it. "Thanks for dinner. It was really delicious." If she could pull this off, she wouldn't have to worry about a date, official or otherwise.

He snagged the key with one hand and turned her, cupping her elbow, with the other. "I can't resist a new gadget. I want to see your alarm. Besides, we haven't decided what time I should pick you up tomorrow."

She came to a stop in front of her door. "We're going to talk about that."

"Over a cup of coffee?" he asked hopefully as he inserted the key.

Kara had long been a devotee of British World War II movies. And for that reason, the sound erupting from her door was familiar. The ear-splitting wail of an air-raid siren rose in the darkness, shattering the peace of the courtyard. It was accompanied by a blinding strobe light and a stream of highly original curses from Dane. Windows flew open in the neighboring units, followed by the heads and shoulders of curious tenants.

"Turn it off!" Kara shrieked.

Dane glared first at her, then at the door. After a moment, he pulled the key from the lock. In the stunning silence that followed, they heard for the first time the shouts of various neighbors.

"Hey, Kara, that's some doorbell!"

"What do you do for an encore?"

"Want us to call the police?"

"Very funny," Kara responded, looking around the courtyard. "When I left, most of you guys were hanging over Terry's shoulder watching him install this thing. What happened?"

A deep, amused voice called down from a second-story window. "Terry had a little trouble with the wiring. He said he'd call you tomorrow."

"I thought you said your friend was in the business," Dane said grimly.

"He is," she insisted, looking up at him. "But he's new at it."

"How new?" he demanded, ignoring the amused comments floating down to them.

"I was his first customer," Kara admitted.

"Terrific." The disgusted word clearly indicated what he thought of her business arrangements. With calm authority, he turned to their fascinated audience. "'We're going to try this again." His deep voice was clear in the still night air. "Once we're inside, we hope that you won't be disturbed anymore."

He turned, unbuttoned his jacket and handed it to Kara. Inserting the key, he winced as the keening wail resumed and the flashing light illuminated the two of them in a crazy-quilt pattern. Bundling her into the house, he pulled the key from the lock, bringing about instant silence, and slammed the door behind them.

"Where's the light switch?"

"Over here. Just a minute." She fumbled in the darkness, bumping into a chair that had strayed from its accustomed place, and said, "That's funny. It doesn't work."

"I'm not surprised. Your friend would be better off in another line of work," Dane said shortly. Sighing in exasperation, he asked, "Where's your circuit breaker?"

"My what?"

"The thing with switches that you fiddle with when the lights go out."

"I know what it is. You just surprised me. On the back porch."

"Do you have a flashlight handy?"

"No. But I have lots of candles," she offered.

"Fine. Anything." He turned, bumping into the wall, and heard something fall. A picture, he assumed. As a flicker of light grew to a small glow, he gave a grunt of satisfaction, then stared in disbelief as she handed him a tiny, feminine affair, roughly the size of a motive candle. "Sure you can spare it?" he asked politely.

"Patience is obviously another thing you're not big on," Kara observed sapiently. "If you'll just hang on for a minute, I've got a hurricane lamp over here."

Dane raised the candle above his head,-glancing quickly at the layout of the room. His attention was momentarily drawn to a bright, woven wall hanging.

He stood, candle aloft, trying to decide if his imagination was running away with him, or if he was staring at a cleverly crafted dragon. His decision was postponed indefinitely as a raucous, high-pitched whine invaded the room.

"What ...." The onset was so sudden and the sound so startling, that he whirled, snuffing the light, and Kara dropped the match she had poised to light the lamp.

"Now what have you done?" she asked, shouting over the din.

"I haven't done a damn thing," he said with asperity. "But in case you've ever wondered, your smoke alarm works just fine." He turned in the direction of her voice. "Can't you get that thing lit so I can shut off this hellish racket?" he demanded, raising his voice.

Before the last word was out, she was pushing the lamp at him.

"No, you keep it. Hold it high enough so I can find the switch, but move back so you don't set it off again." He stretched, fiddled for a minute, and the nerve-racking whine stopped as if it had been sliced off with a sharp knife. They both exhaled in the sudden silence.

"Now, for God's sake, give me that thing," he said, reaching out a long arm. "I want to find the circuit-breaker before the famous sprinkling system goes off."

Handing him the lamp, Kara listened as he strode through the kitchen and out the back door. He moved the same way he did everything else, she thought. With economy, precision and a certain masculine grace. The lights blinked on before she could pursue the thought.

His head cleared the doorway with an inch or two to spare as he came to stand beside her. He was dry, she noted. Obviously he had outrun the sprinklers.

"I'm afraid I knocked down your picture while we were groping around in the dark." His statement was matter-of-fact, not quite an apology. "If you'll get me a hammer, I'll put it back up ..."

Kara groaned inwardly. He was already convinced that she shouldn't be walking around without a leash.

What she was about to say wouldn't help. "I don't have a hammer." She watched in fascination as a muscle in his jaw flexed.

He examined a series of pitted marks around the nail hole before turning to her. "Just how do you survive on a day-to-day basis?" he asked with genuine interest. "No flashlight. No hammer. Do you have any tools at all?"

She shook her head slowly from side to side, grinning at his disgust. "Not yet. But we've developed a system around here. There are men in this complex whose cooking would give a billy goat heartburn. There are some women who have been known to push a tack right through their fingernails. So we exchange talents. Home-cooked meals for hanging lamps, moving furniture, whatever. You should understand that. It's called reciprocity."

He frowned at the dented wall. "No man hung that picture."

"I did that one," she admitted.

"Well, get me whatever you used, and I'll put it back up."

She thought of protesting, then shrugged inwardly. Resting one hand on his arm, she bent over and removed one of her high-heeled sandals, and, straight-faced, handed it to him. He was quick, she had to give him that.

He looked from the spike heel to the wall. "Now I understand why it looks like you keep a tame wood-pecker around here. I'll put it up tomorrow." He crouched down, touched her ankle with warm fingers and slipped her shoe back on as she balanced herself with a hand on his broad shoulder.

Kara sighed at the expression on his face as he rose. Some men believed that she could be maneuvered into bed without a protest. Others expected a token argument and were mildly amused when they got it.

They were not amused when they found themselves outside her door with only a swift good-night kiss for all their efforts. Whether or not the date was repeated depended upon how well they accepted the inevitable.

Kara had companionship and affection to offer, nothing more. This man, she knew instinctively, wanted more.

Once or twice she had thought she might be in love, but she was not tempted to test the theory by leaping into bed. That leap had cost some of her friends far more than the loss of a night's sleep. Kara, always a quick learner, had so far delicately trod the tightrope of a busy social life while keeping the prowling wolves at bay.

Keeping this one at arm's length would be another matter if he decided that he wanted to be closer. He moved fast, and he was moving in her direction. Nor was he a boy to be distracted. As a matter of fact, she reflected, going off on a tangent, he didn't look like he had ever been a boy. Probably born with a scowl and knitted brows, a hammer in one hand and a flashlight in the other. She thought of her own helter-skelter family life, loving parents, a cluttered house warm with laughter, and decided that his discipline was unnatural. He needed humanizing, she told herself.

"What?" She was now seated next to him on the couch and had quite obviously missed something.

"I disconnected everything that idiot did in back. Did he remember to tell you that he'd have to chop holes in the walls and ceilings for the sprinkling system?"

Speechless, she shook her head. "I didn't think about that," she admitted.

"A couple of dead-bolt locks will keep this place safer than that birdbrained alarm. I'd advise you to call your friend and tell him the system is being returned and the home-cooked meal is canceled."

"Maybe he knows how to install locks," she countered.

"He's too late," Dane said flatly. "I'm here now."

"I promised him spareribs and all the trimmings."

"Tell him that the lady, my lady, has just gone out of the restaurant business."

Doing her best to ignore the possessive statement, Kara commented idly, "I suppose you have a yen for something in particular. Pork chops? Prime rib? What's your weakness?"

"The only thing I crave right now is about five foot two, wrapped in a dress that looks like cotton candy."

"Sorry," she said lightly. "I'm never part of the deal."

His eyes narrowed in a silvery flash of satisfaction.

"I thought so. This time, of course, it'll be different."

He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, enjoying her exasperated expression.

"There's no 'of course' about it," she snapped. Didn't the man ever listen? "But if you insist on playing handyman, bring on the locks, and I'll whip up a dinner. Whatever you want."

"I can cook or buy my own dinner. I'll take you," he said calmly.

"I'm not up for grabs," she informed him once again, speaking slowly, as if to someone who was mentally deficient. Turning to face him, she smoothed her dress over her knees and eyed him thoughtfully.

"You really baffle me," she said finally. "Last week you couldn't wait to get rid of me, and tonight you're acting like I'm the only female left in San Diego County between eight and eighty."

"Last week I thought you were a teenager. Tonight I realized that you may be many things, but you're no kid." His look was as level as his voice. "I don't play out of my league."

"And I don't play at all," she informed him. "So I guess that takes care of that."

He stretched out comfortably, as if he were taking root. "About tomorrow. What time shall I be here? How does a picnic sound? I'll need about an hour for the locks."

"Okay," she sighed. It had been a long day, and he had done nothing to make it an easy one. At the moment she wasn't equipped to deal with such bull-dog persistence. "But somewhere between the locks and the picnic, I have to fit in a visit to Aunt Tillie."

"Fine," he said, rising abruptly. "I'll be here about eleven."

She picked up his jacket on the way to the door and held it out to him. "Oh! You never got your coffee. I'm sorry."

His gaze was enigmatic as he looked down at her.

"After having three cups at the restaurant, anyone else would have recognized the request for exactly what it was: a delaying tactic. You're a bit gullible, aren't you?"

After a thoughtful moment, she nodded in agreement. "I guess I am," she said simply. "I trust people."

She opened the door and held out her hand. "Good night, Dane. Thanks again for the rescue. I'm sure my neighbors appreciate it, too." She was talking too fast, she knew, but the intent, silvery-green gaze on her face was unsettling.

He drew her to him and lowered his head.

She murmured something against his lips.

"What's the matter?"

"I've never been kissed by a mustache," Kara admitted with a grin.

"Well, if this is a first," he said, wrapping his arms around her slight form until she was wedged against his big body, "we'd better do it right. And in keeping with the good-neighbor policy, we'll be nice and quiet. No alarms or bells this time."

Several minutes later, Kara stared dazedly at the closed door. Quiet? The man was out of his mind. Her entire body was reacting just as idiotically as the front door had earlier in the evening.

Trailing through the house, turning off lights, she reached a firm decision. For the third time. She didn't need a powder keg like Dane Logan in her life. This time she really meant it.