Serendipity (9 page)

She turned and saw Ethan's Jag in the parking lot, the man himself waving to her from the driver's seat. She blinked in surprise and started down the stairs, careful to maintain a steady stride and not make an ass of herself—because he was definitely watching her.

She walked up to his open window, placing a hand on the car. “What are you doing here?”

“Do you have a car?” he asked.

If he was here, she had a feeling he already knew the answer. But she shook her head in reply anyway.

“Didn't think so,” he said a bit too smugly for her liking. “But the truth is I just didn't want you to find an excuse to miss our appointment.” His lips twisted in a wry grin.

So he thought he'd be one step ahead of her, did he? Okay, he was. And there was nothing she could do about it. Nor did she want to. The man had offered her a much-needed career opportunity and had turned out to be her savior last night and again this morning. If she wasn't careful, he'd make himself indispensable. And that was power she could never allow any man to have over her.

“Get in the car, princess.” His eyes dared her to argue as she had in the past.

She merely stood taller and walked to the passenger's side of the car, bracing herself for the impact of being alone with him. There was also the issue of walking into her old home for the first time since the world as she knew it had come crashing down around her.

“Feeling okay this beautiful morning?” he asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

The sun shone down on the town, a bright early July morning in Serendipity. The sunlight made her wince, which was what he'd been referring to.

Her hangover. “Actually, I'm feeling good.” Thanks to him. “Sending over breakfast was thoughtful.” Sending over Rosalita had been an emotional boost she hadn't realized she'd needed, but obviously he'd figured that out about her.

No one had ever cared enough about her deepest needs to do something that caring. Oh, her father had given her material things, and he'd given her his time, but she knew now he'd withheld important parts of himself, making their connection a superficial one at best. And forget Carter. But Ethan, who was practically a stranger to her, had sensed what she needed.

She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

He slid a knowing glance her way, then refocused on the road. “You're welcome. I figured you'd be hurting this morning, and again, I didn't want to give you an excuse to miss our meeting.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I might not have remembered our meeting if you hadn't sent Rosalita to remind me.”

He grinned, obviously amused by her hangover. “I figured.”

“Well, I'm perfectly fine now.”

“Glad to hear it. We have a lot of ground to cover. This place is massive and it'll take tons of furniture to make it feel like home.”

She patted her tote. “That's what I'm here for.” Her bag held a sketch pad, measuring tape, and a notebook for their meeting.

She just planned to take some basic notes, dig into his feelings about the house, his likes and dislikes in color and furniture type—modern, classic, traditional, et cetera. Then she'd call Joel Carstairs. She'd met Joel, a premier interior designer, through the wife of one of Carter's partners.

Joel had helped her decorate her penthouse in Manhattan and in the process he'd become her close friend. She'd attended his designer showcases, and he'd taken her with him on buying trips and had introduced her to the best design houses to work with and order fabric and furniture from. Most important, he'd held her hand through her divorce, all the while reminding her of why he and Paul, his partner of fifteen years, didn't need a piece of paper to define their relationship. He'd also promised to help her get started in interior design in Serendipity, even if visiting a small town killed his sense of flair. She grinned at the recollection.

“What's so funny?” Ethan asked.

She hadn't realized he'd been watching her. “Nothing.” He wouldn't understand unless he met Joel.

Ethan shrugged and turned the car into the long driveway, slowly taking the car up the hill and pulling the Jag into one of the four garages her father had added on after purchasing the house from the previous owner. She noted a motorcycle in one stall, an SUV in another.

The mansion on the hill was a landmark, the heart of the town. All the homes that had been built in the early 1900s by the rich and wealthy seeking to escape the hot summers in Manhattan had fallen into disrepair.

Not her house.

This
house.

His
house.

She hadn't realized he'd shut off the engine and walked around, opening the car door and extending a hand. “Ready?”

She placed her palm against his. Electricity crackled between them as she stepped into the familiar garage.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I was just thinking about my dad's cars. His Aston Martin would be parked there.” She pointed to one of the empty bays. “And his Mercedes convertible here.” She patted the door of his Jaguar. “Mom's car was where your bike is now.”

“I'm sorry.” Ethan slipped a supportive hand against her back. “When I asked you to decorate, I didn't think about the emotional impact.” He paused, giving the weight of his words more importance. “Look, if you don't want to do this, I'll take you home right now.”

“Let's get one thing straight, okay?” Faith turned to face him. “You might have pushed me into this when I was drunk, but I wouldn't be here now unless I wanted to be.”

A flash of admiration sparkled in his eyes. “Fair enough.”

“Good. So let's go inside.”

No sooner had Ethan entered the house than he received an emergency business call. He didn't want to leave Faith alone to walk through her old home, but he had no choice. He excused himself and uncomfortably told her to look around—as if she didn't already know every nook and cranny in the place.

Heading into his office, he took the call only to discover that his main competitor had somehow gotten hold of the specs on his company's government bid, which meant one thing. Not only did Ethan have to revamp his strategy, but he had to deal with a spy in his midst. And if that were the case, even his latest software in development was at risk.

He muttered a curse and called Franklin Investigations, the only firm he trusted to handle the job discreetly and find out who the hell was leaking proprietary business information to his biggest competitor. It could be anyone. A loner, Ethan rarely trusted people, so he knew better than to take anyone in his company into his confidence. He'd keep the investigation to himself until the mole was ferreted out and the person fired.

Knowing there was nothing more he could do until Franklin found answers, he went in search of Faith, expecting to find her somewhere on the first floor making notes or taking measurements. Instead, he wandered room to room and came up empty on the main floor. He could use the intercom system that had been installed, but he decided to keep looking instead. In the basement, he checked the media room, wondering if she'd decided to start there first. That was a room he already had a vision for and one he wanted her to implement quickly. No Faith. Wine cellar, pool table area, and bar also turned up empty.

He jogged up the stairs and then headed to the second floor where the master and other bedrooms were located. Suddenly he had a hunch and stepped quietly on the carpeted runner that led to the one bedroom that had to be hers. Pink and green striped wallpaper on walls and a floral mix border running across the top near the ceiling had screamed
girl
to him. He hadn't paid much attention when he'd walked through with the realtor and he'd had no reason to go in there since he'd moved in.

From the doorway, Ethan silently glanced inside. Faith stood by the closets in the empty room. Without furniture, the space looked as sad and lonely as she did at this moment. Sunlight streamed through the two windows on opposite walls, highlighting the soft beige carpet and putting a spotlight on the areas that were indented from the years of heavy furniture and the occasional discoloration from use and wear.

Oblivious to his presence, Faith ran her hands up and down the wall inside a small walk-in closet. She was obviously lost in old memories. Good or bad? He had no idea, but he felt like an intruder on her private time and space, and guilt rose up inside him. He considered walking away and leaving her alone with her thoughts, but if the memories weren't all good ones, maybe she'd appreciate the interruption. Besides, he reminded himself, this was
his
house and she'd come here to do a job.

He cleared his throat. “Hey. I looked all over the house for you.”

She turned, not startled or surprised to see him. He wondered if she'd sensed his presence all along. “Hi. I was just visiting. This used to be my room, but I'm sure you figured that out already.”

He nodded. “I sure did. Pink room fit for a princess.”

A sad smile touched her lips. “Yeah.”

“What are you looking at in there?” He pointed to where she'd been rubbing the inner closet wall.

“You'll think it's silly.” She ducked her head, obviously embarrassed, and started for the door. “Why don't we get started downstairs first?”

His curiosity piqued, he refused to accept the avoidance technique. “Not until you tell me what you were looking at.” He wanted to know her secrets. Was curious what made her tick. Maybe then he'd understand why he was so drawn to her. Why he loved her laugh and hated when she was sad. Like now. “And I won't think it's silly.”

She let out a forced sigh. “Okay, you asked for it. My mother loved wallpaper.” She gestured around the room, then swung back to the open closet door.

“I noticed,” he said wryly.

“I'm sure you did.” She treated him to her soft, appealing laughter. “Anyway, my mother had even papered the inside of my closet with her choice of color and style. But I always wanted to be able to design my room and mark it as my own.”

“So the urge to decorate has always been there?”

She nodded.

He envied her knowing what she wanted at a young age. He'd never known. Never thought beyond the next round of fun and trouble he could stir up. Until joining the army, he hadn't been thinking at all.

“So one day, out of spite, I peeled back the paper in the closet,” she said, oblivious to his thoughts. “Of course being the real rebel that I am, I chose a place my mother wouldn't notice.” She met his gaze and grinned.

Not just their gazes connected and he laughed, feeling as if they'd just shared a private joke.

“She never found out I'd peeled off one entire wall in here because only Rosalita would go inside to put away my clothes and she'd never tell. Anyway, with the wallpaper gone, I found markings.” She ran her fingertips over the wall once more.

Soft and delicate, she stroked the wall. Watching her made him long for her hands to work their way over his skin, inch by tantalizing inch.

He cleared his throat. “What kind of markings?” he asked, trying to distract himself before his body reacted even more.

“Look.”

He stepped closer and her sweet scent surrounded him, taking him back to last night, the kiss, and her hands looped around his neck while her lips devoured his. This wasn't good at all, he thought. He had to focus on their conversation, not on sex or how much he desired her.

He squinted for a better look at the small pencil and pen markings that ran up and down the wall in a straight line. “What are they?” He stepped out of her personal space, giving himself some of his own.

“Height measurements!” she said, sounding as excited over the discovery as she must have been the first time. “Didn't your mom ever stand you against the wall and mark how tall you'd gotten?” she asked.

He shook his head and shoved his hands into the back pocket of his jeans. “I never stuck around the house long enough for her to get the chance. I always had somewhere to go, friends to see . . . trouble to cause.” His voice dropped at the memory of his behavior.

How many times had he wished for a do-over? The chance to fix things so his memories would be more than a guilty blur? Too bad life didn't offer many of those.

She met his gaze, seemed to read his expression, and her eyes filled with understanding. Not pity.

“My mother just wasn't interested in old discoveries or how tall her only daughter was.” Faith jumped back into the conversation without missing a beat, letting him off the hook without pushing for further conversation.

Score another point for her.

“But after I found these I showed them to my father. He hadn't cared that I pulled down Mom's wallpaper. Instead, he just picked up a pen and added my height line to the rest of them.” Her voice took on a wistful tone. “We used to check for growth spurts every six months or so. He never forgot.”

“Sounds like you love him a lot.”

She stepped back and leaned against the wall, her disappointment clear. “I do. Did. I mean I do. I love him.” She nodded definitively. “I just don't understand what he did or why.”

“Maybe he got caught up in something beyond his control,” Ethan suggested, because she seemed to need answers.

“Nothing excuses what he did.”

Before he could chime in, she continued. “Anyway, most of these lines are from kids who lived in this room long before me.”

“Which ones are yours?” he felt compelled to ask.

“The ones in pen. The penciled ones came before me.”