Taming Tess (The St. John Sibling Series) (20 page)

"I take it you're the homeowner," the Fire Marshal said, reminding her he was there.

She couldn't help but smile at his Cheshire cat grin as she sidled up beside Roman. When Roman didn't automatically sling an arm around her, she peered up at him. His smile had turned sad and he lowered his eyes toward the object at the Fire Marshal's feet.

"That's our culprit," he said.
"Our fire starter."

Tess looked at the melted glob of orange rubber that vaguely resembled a heavy-duty electrical cord.
Her heart skipped a beat. Her gaze traveled up from the glob to the outlet into which it was still plugged then jumped to the black air conditioner cord still linked with the orange extension cord.

"It can't be," she
said on a thin breath.

"Don't let the unscathed ends fool you," the Fire Marshal said,
toeing the orange glob at their feet. "This is the culprit."

She gaped
at the Fire Marshal and stammered, "B-but it's a heavy-duty cord."

"Like I was explaining to your contractor
here, even cords rated for heavy-duty use get hot when they draw maximum wattage for an extended period of time. When a cord is coiled up like this one is there's no way for the heat to dissipate."

Tess stared at the cord that looked like something out of a Salvador Dali painting, her toes and fingers suddenly numb.

"We'll check the cord out back at the lab," the Fire Marshal said. "But I've had fires start like this more often than you might think." He gathered up the rest of his test samples, commented that the burn pattern didn't indicate anything out of the ordinary, and said she was free to access her attic then left.

Free?
She wasn't free to do anything, not now that she'd seen exactly which cord had caused the fire. Cousin Raymond may have plugged that cord into the air conditioning unit the morning of the fire to cool himself while he labored beneath the eaves to cut and cap an old vent. But she was the one who'd switched the air conditioner back on when she'd come up to the attic to pick through Aunt Honey's storage boxes. She'd been the one who'd left it running all day, overheating the electrical cord…and starting the fire.

Now was not the time to tell Roman she loved him.

But it was the right time to tell him she was at fault for her own fire. "Roman--"

He cut her off with a light kiss.
"I need to get back to the job site." Then he kissed her again, a little longer, a little deeper, his lips parting from hers reluctantly and he murmured, "We'll continue this later at home."

It was so tempting to let him go.
To put off telling him what was sure to…

Sure to what?
Bring on a repeat performance of his pink underwear reaction? Sure to turn him into the raving male chauvinist her father was?

Roman's footsteps echoed up from the stairwell.

Stop him. Tell him now.

She turned, poised to go after him.
But her feet seemed stuck in the ash of Aunt Honey's attic. She was normally a woman of action. Why wasn't she running after Roman?

Because, one hint he was anything like her father and she'd be gone before Roman could utter the first syllable of Princess.

There it was. The reason she, woman of action, stood rooted to the sooty floor of a burned out attic rather than facing up to a problem of her own making. She didn't want to find out Roman was like her father.

She hugged her arms across her stomach, an ache the size of the Sears Tower pressing down on her chest.
Roman had every right to know it wasn't his fault her assets had gone up in flames. That it was
her
fault he'd spent even one moment worrying about being sued. Her fault he'd been forced to let her invade his home…his life. Sooner or later, she was going to have to tell him.

But
, how to tell him.

Honey Buns, don't get mad.
I burned up my own attic
.

Hey, Roman.
Here's something you're going to get a laugh out of
.

Look here, St. John.
Nobody's perfect
.

But plaintive wasn't her style.
She didn't feel funny. And she had no business being snippy, especially with Roman.

Straight forward.
That was the way to be with him…just like he'd always been with her.

Stop delaying
, commanded the little voice in her head.
Go after him and tell him. Now
.

She bounded down the
attic steps. He'd reached his truck by the time she hit the front porch.

"Roman," she called.

He turned, the smile on his face wide as a Chicago expressway, and called back at her, "Can't get enough of me today, huh, Princess?"

The toe of her tenni
s shoe caught in the overgrown lawn as she sprinted across the yard and she almost stumbled. If he went ballistic over what she had to tell him, she'd never get enough of him because she couldn't--wouldn't abide any man dressing her down like a child.

Her heart pounded in her chest.
She'd never been so scared in her life, including the night on the lake when she'd nearly drowned. But never before had she so much to lose.

She skidded to a halt just beyond his reach.
She didn't dare chance his touch or she might lose her nerve. How Roman handled this kind of news was something better learned sooner rather than later. He glanced at the space she left between them and his grin faded.

"If this about my insurance coverage, I'
ve already called the company."

"It's not about your insurance.
At least not in the way you're expecting."

His eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean, not in the way I'm expecting?"

"I mean you don't have to involve your insurance company."

He blinked, confusion knotting his brow. "I don't understand."

She drew a deep breath.
"It wasn't Raymond's fault that cord over-heated."

The lines in Roman's brow
curved a less confused more perturbed expression. "If my doltish cousin wasn't such a wimp, he wouldn't have needed air-conditioning for an hour's work under the eaves."

"He shut it off."

"It wouldn't have over-heated if he'd shut it off."

"No. It wouldn't have."

The corners of Roman's mouth pulled downward. "Tess, what are you trying to tell me?"

"I went up in the attic after Raymond left.
I turned the air-conditioner on…and forgot to shut it off when I left that day for my run."

He blinked.
He looked up at the house, stared at it as though seeing it for the first time. He continued to stare for what seemed an eternity. She held her breath, until…

"So you have nothing to sue me over?
And my insurance isn't going to have to shell out big bucks to repair your house? My insurance rates won't go up?"

"That's a good way to look at it," she
said.

His gaze dropped to hers.
He wasn't smiling. Tess' heart tripped against her ribs.

"I'm sorry, Roman.
I'm sorry I invaded your home and your life. I'm sorry I inconvenienced you. I'm sorry for every moment of misery I caused you."

In one long stride, he had her in his arms and was swinging her in a circle.
Tess clung to him for dear life, all but shrieking, "Aren't you angry with me?"

He set her down between him and his truck, his fingers lingering on her waist reassuring.
"I'm relieved, Princess."

"Relieved.
That's good."

But, if it was so good, why did she still feel like the ground could drop out from under her at any moment?
Why wasn't she sinking into the delicious play of his fingers on her back?

"And you forgive me for being such a--" She looked him in the eye as she finished with
the word "--shrew?"

He backed her into the side of the truck, murmuring, "When did I ever call you a shrew?"

"The first night I spent in your house."

"I never called you a shrew."
He leaned into her, all his right places lined up with all hers.

"You implied it," she pressed, still waiting for that proverbial second shoe to drop.

He kissed her neck, humming, "Implied?"

"You were reading
Taming of the Shrew.
" She gulped between passion-induced pants, still trying to see the danger but wanting so much to surrender to the moment.

His chuckle buzzed against her throat.
"Figured that one out, did you?"

#

Maybe it was the new state of her financial obligations that put a damper on her mood after Roman drove off whistling a happy tune. Being the owner of a burned out hulk of a house that had been vastly under-insured could turn anyone's mindset to gloom and doom, she'd bemoaned as she drove back to Roman's.

But she was in love, she silently argued as she
sat at his desk re-examining the costs to make The Castle whole again now that the expense was hers. Shouldn't love be enough to make any woman happy?

"Any fool of a woman," she muttered, tallying how many two by fours
and sheets of plywood it was going to take to patch the hole in the roof. She'd already gone the fool for love route with her father's favorite candidate for son-in-law.

Was that what bothered her?
She feared she might have once again fallen into the trap of blinded by love?

Except she hadn't been in love with Harry.
She'd been in… What? Joint frustration? Females didn't get ahead at her father's architectural firm and Harry's talents didn't quite live up to his career plans.

She hadn't been blinded by anything.
She'd been obsessed by her need for her father's recognition, and Harry's glib promise of a partnership had seemed the answer to that need. Unfortunately for her, Harry had planned on her being the silent partner who provided the talent while he claimed the glory.

Tess
slumped back in Roman's office chair. Hashing out old mistakes was not helping her figure out how to save her first solo project from financial ruin. Just what were her options?

Aunt Honey would help her.

But she didn't want to turn to Aunt Honey again. Aunt Honey had helped her enough on this project just by letting her buy The Castle out from under Roman. Besides, she was still incommunicado on some mountain top. So, what other options did she have?

Her father?

When Hell froze over.

Her mother?

Tess grunted. The last financial decision her mother had made was to buy Daddy into the architectural firm where he worked…which he ultimately took over…as he had every penny of Mommy's inheritance.

E
xcept for the trust fund she'd set aside for her future children, a trust containing a marriage clause for any daughters born. She could thank her father for talking her mother into that constraint.

A
thought hit her like an electrical shock, straightening her from the back of the chair. She couldn't get her hands on her trust until she married. But her sisters were married. Maybe one of them would help.

A
s quick as hope had flamed, it died. Sister one had handed over the assets of her trust to her investment manager hubby the minute that gold ring had been slipped onto her finger. Dutiful daughter number two had the sense to convert her trust to trusts for her future children. A better option but one that still made any chance of a loan beyond Tess' reach.

With a sigh, Tess sank back into the chair.
What to do? With her credit stretched as far as it could go, no bank was going to give her another loan. Another credit card? Given the interest rates, she could forget any profit. Far more likely, she'd be left deep in debt. No success to show to her father.

She pondered the pros and cons of marrying to
get her trust fund. There were a lot of pros given the groom in question was Roman. But, what did she really know about him?

Fabulous lover.

Honorable man.

Reliable.

Hard worker.

Family man.

A family man who'd likely turn The Castle into one giant nursery if given the chance. Is this how her father had trapped her mother? Presenting all his good traits during the courtship, not revealing his real self until after the wedding? Could she end up in the same trap--a trap where the husband takes control of your inheritance and adds marriage clauses to your daughters' trust funds?

Besides
, marry and her father would declare she'd needed her trust fund to bail her out. So much for proving her abilities as an independent architect and businesswoman to her father.

Tess scowled.
How did her father wind up such a chauvinist with a sister like Honey?