A well-mannered fire simmered in the grate of the Adam fireplace. It threw pretty, dancing lights over the Oriental carpet and silk-papered walls. A distinguished vermouth picked up the subtle lighting and sparkled in the heavy, faceted Baccarat glass. Van Cliburn played an elegant Chopin étude. Tasteful hors d’oeuvres had been offered on Georgian silver by the aged and discreet butler.
It was exactly the sort of room Jed had skulked through during his childhood, with the carefully placed bric-a-brac whispering of old money. But there was a subtle difference here. In this room, in this house, he had known some transient happiness. In this room he hadn’t been threatened or berated or ignored.
Yet it still reminded him, painfully, of the boy he had been.
Jed rose from the miserably uncomfortable Louis XIV side chair to pace his grandmother’s front parlor.
In evening clothes he looked the part of the Bester-Skimmerhorn heir. It was only his eyes, as he stared down at the flickering fire, that reflected the other paths he’d chosen, and the internal struggle to find his true place.
He wouldn’t have minded a visit. Of all of his relatives, Honoria was the only one he’d had generous feelings for during his youth. As fate would have it, she was the only relative he had left. But the command performance grated.
He’d refused to take Honoria to the Winter Ball, twice—directly and concisely. She had simply ignored his refusal and, using a combination of guile, guilt, and tenacity had wheedled him into dragging out his tux.
“Well, Jedidiah, you’re still prompt.”
Honoria stood in the parlor doorway. She had sharp New England cheekbones and brilliant blue eyes that missed little. Her snowy hair was softly coiffed around her narrow face. Her lips, still full and oddly sensuous, were curved. Smugly. Honoria knew when she’d won a match, whether it be a rousing game of bridge or a battle of wills.
“Grandmother.” Because it was expected, and because he enjoyed it, Jed crossed over to take her hand and lift it to his lips. “You look beautiful.”
It was quite true, and she knew it. Her Adolpho gown of royal blue set off both her eyes and her stately figure. Diamonds glittered at her throat, at her ears, at her wrists. She enjoyed the gems because she had earned them, and because she was vain enough to know they would turn heads.
“Pour me a drink,” she ordered, in a voice that still carried a hint of Boston from her youth. “That will give you time to tell me what you’re doing with your life.”
“We won’t need much time for that.” But he walked obediently to the liquor cabinet.
He remembered when she had caught him filching from that same cabinet nearly twenty years before. How she had insisted that he drink from the decanter of whiskey—and keep drinking while she watched, steely-eyed. And after, when he’d been miserably sick, she had held his head for him.
“When you’re old enough to drink like a man, Jedidiah, you and I will share a civilized cocktail. Until then, don’t take what you can’t handle.”
“Sherry, Grandmother?” he asked, and grinned.
“Now, why would I want an old woman’s drink when there’s good whiskey around?” Silks rustling, she sat near the fire. “When am I going to see this hovel you’ve moved yourself into?”
“Anytime you like, and it’s not a hovel.”
She snorted and sipped at the whiskey in a heavy crystal tumbler. “A drafty apartment above some seamy little shop.”
“I haven’t noticed any drafts.”
“You had a perfectly adequate home.”
“I had a twenty-room mausoleum that I hated.” He’d known this was coming. After all, it was from her he’d inherited the tenacity that had made him a good cop. Rather than face the chair again, he leaned against the mantel. “I’ve always hated it.”
“It’s wood and brick,” she said dismissively. “It’s a foolish waste of energy to hate the inanimate. In any case, you would have been welcome here. As you always were.”
“I know.” They’d been through it all before. But because he wanted to erase the concern from her eyes, he grinned. “But I didn’t want to interfere with your sex life.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “You’d hardly have done so from the east wing. However, I have always respected your independence.” And because she sensed some subtle lightening in him since the last time she’d made the offer, she let that part of the argument rest. “When do you intend to go back to your badge, and your work?”
His hesitation was brief. “I have no intention of going back.”
“You disappoint me, Jedidiah. And, I think, you disappoint yourself.” She rose, regally. “Fetch my wrap. It’s time we left.”
Dora loved a party. One of her favorite ways to reward herself for a hard day was to primp, dress up and spend an evening in a crowd. It didn’t matter if she knew a single soul, as long as there were plenty of people, chilled champagne, music and interesting food.
As it happened, she knew a great many people attending the Winter Ball. Some were friends, some were customers, some were patrons of her family’s theater. She was able to entertain herself by mingling, moving from group to group to exchange pecks on the cheek and fresh gossip. Though she’d taken a chance wearing the strapless white gown, the press of bodies heated the room and kept her comfortable.
“Dora, darling, you look fabulous.” Ashley Draper, a social climber of the first order who had recently shed her second husband, swooped down on Dora in a cloud of Opium.
Because Ashley fell slightly below the borders of friendship, Dora was amused by the quick air kiss. “You look radiant, Ashley.”
“You’re a dear to say so, even though I know I’m a bit washed out. Right after the first of the year, I’m going to spend a week at the Green Door. The holidays are so fatiguing, aren’t they?”
“God knows how we get through them.” Dora popped a stuffed olive into her mouth. “I thought you’d be in Aspen.”
“Next week.” Ashley waved a fuchsia-tipped hand toward another couple. “What a ghastly dress,” she murmured through her smiling lips. “It makes her look like a stuffed eggplant.”
Because it was a killingly accurate statement, Dora laughed and remembered why she tolerated Ashley. “Are you here stag?”
“Lord no.” Ashley scanned the crowd. “My escort’s that amazing hunk of beefcake with the Samson locks.”
Once again Ashley’s description was on the money. Dora picked him out quickly. “My, my.”
“An artist,” Ashley purred. “I’ve decided to be a patron. Speaking of the men in our lives, I heard that Andrew broke off your business association.”
“Did you?” It only amused Dora that Andrew, or more likely his mother, had twisted the facts. “Let’s just say I’m looking for someone a bit more substantial to stand between me and the IRS.”
“And how is your little shop doing?”
“Oh, we manage to sell a trinket now and again.”
“Mmm, yes.” Finances didn’t interest Ashley, as long as the alimony check came on time. “We missed you the other night at the Bergermans’. Christmas Eve?”
“I was . . . unexpectedly detained.”
“I hope he was worth it,” Ashley purred, then grabbed Dora’s hand in a crushing grip. “Look, here.” She lowered her voice to confidential tones. “It’s the grand dame herself. She rarely puts in an appearance here.”
“Who?” Curiosity piqued, Dora craned her neck. She lost the rest of Ashley’s hissed explanation the minute she saw Jed. “Surprise, surprise,” she murmured. “Excuse me, Ashley, I have to go see a man about a tux.”
And he did look fabulous in it, she mused as she circled the ballroom to come up behind him. She waited until he’d procured two glasses of champagne.
“I know,” she said at his shoulder. “You went back on the force, and now you’re undercover.” She caught his soft oath as he turned. “What is it, an international jewel thief? A ring of insidious pâté burglars?”
“Conroy. Do you have to be everywhere?”
“I have an invitation.” She tapped her beaded evening bag. “How about you, copper?”
“Christ. It’s bad enough I have to be here at all without—”
“Jedidiah!” Honoria’s authoritative voice halted any complaints. “Have you lost whatever slight degree of manners I managed to teach you? Introduce your friend to your grandmother.”
“Grandmother?” On a quick laugh, Dora took Honoria’s narrow-boned hand. “Really? I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs. Skimmerhorn, even though it destroys my theory that Jed was hatched from a very hard-shelled, very stale egg.”
“His social graces are lacking.” Honoria studied Dora with growing interest. “And it’s Mrs. Rodgers, my dear. I was briefly married to Walter Skimmerhorn, but rectified the matter as soon as humanly possible.”
“I’m Dora Conroy, Jed’s landlord.”
“Ah.” There was a world of expression in the single syllable. “And how do you find my grandson as a tenant?”
“His temperament’s a bit unreliable.” Dora shot a look at Jed, pleased by the fire in his eyes. “But he appears to be neat enough, and he’s certainly not rowdy.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. There were times, you know, during his youth, that I feared his landlord would be a warden.”
“Then you must be pleased he chose the right side of the law.”
“I’m very proud of him. He’s the first and only Skimmerhorn to amount to anything.”
“Grandmother.” Very deliberately, Jed took her arm. “Let me get you some hors d’oeuvres.”
“I’m capable of getting my own.” Just as deliberately, she shook him off. “And there are several people I must speak to. Dance with the girl, Jedidiah.”
“Yeah, Jedidiah,” Dora said as Honoria swept off. “Dance with the girl.”
“Go find somebody else to harass,” he suggested, and turned toward the bar. He was going to need something stronger than champagne.
“Your grandma’s watching, pal.” Dora tugged on his sleeve. “Five will get you ten she’ll lecture you if you don’t escort me onto the dance floor and exude some charm.”
Setting the champagne aside, Jed took her arm. If his fingers dug in a bit hard, she was determined not to grimace. “Don’t you have a boyfriend around here?”
“I don’t see boys,” Dora said, grateful when Jed had to shift his grip into dance position. “If you mean do I have a date, then no. I don’t usually like to bring a date to a party.”
“Why?”
“Then I’d have to worry if he was having a good time, and what I prefer doing is having one myself.” The orchestra was playing a silky version of “Twilight Time.” “You’re a nice dancer, Skimmerhorn. Better than Andrew.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Of course, it would be a nice touch if you looked at me, instead of glaring at the other dancers.” When his gaze lowered, she tilted her head and smiled. “What about you? Are you having a good time?”
“I hate these things.” It was a shame, a damn shame, he thought, that she felt so incredibly good in his arms. “You probably love them.”
“Oh, I do. You’d like them more if you accepted them for what they are.”
“Which is?”
“A chance to show off.” She lifted a finger from his shoulder to tease his hair. “I’m terrific at showing off.”
“I’d already figured that out.”
“Astonishing deductive powers. Comes from being a police captain.”
He slid a hand up her back, encountered bare skin. “Do you ever go out at night in anything that doesn’t glitter?”
“Not if I can help it. Don’t you like the dress?”
“What there is of it.” The song ended and another began, but he’d forgotten he didn’t want to dance with her. Honoria glided by in the arms of a distinguished-looking man with a silver moustache. “You look okay, Conroy.”
“My.” She widened her eyes. “Feel my heart pound.”
“If I feel your heart, I’ll do it in private.”
“Are you exuding charm for your grandmother’s sake?”
He looked down at her again. Something in her smile encouraged one of his own. “She liked you.”
“I’m a likable person.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a pain in the ass.” He stroked his hand up and down her bare back where the silk of the gown gave way to the silk of her flesh. “A very sexy pain in the ass.”
“I’m getting to you, Jed.” And her heart was pounding, just a little, as she trailed her fingers along his neck.
“Maybe.” Testing them both, he dipped his head, brushed her mouth with his.
“Absolutely,” she corrected. She felt the quickening in her stomach spread to a fluttering. She ignored the curious heads turned their way and kept her mouth an inch away from his. “We could go home tonight and tear each other’s clothes off, jump into bed and relieve some of this tension.”
“An interesting image, Conroy, but it sounds like there’s an ‘or’ coming.”
“Or,” she said, and tried to smile, “we could get to be friends first.”
“Who said I wanted to be your friend?”
“You won’t be able to help yourself.” She touched a hand to his cheek, as much in compassion as arousal. “I can be a pretty good friend. And I figure you need one.”
She moved something in him, no matter how hard he tried to stand against it. “How do you figure that?”
“Because everyone does. Because it’s hard to be alone in a room full of people, but you are.”
After a violent inner struggle, he rested his brow against hers. “Goddamn it, Dora. I don’t want to care about you. I don’t want to care about—”
“Anything?” she finished for him. When she looked up into his eyes this time, her heart broke. “You’re not dead,” she murmured.
“Close enough.” He pulled himself back. “I want a drink.”
She went with him to the bar, ordered champagne while he chose scotch. “Tell you what.” Her voice was light again. “We’ll try something new. I won’t give you a hard time—and vice versa. I won’t make suggestive comments or clever insults.”
He rattled the ice in his glass while he studied her. “What’s left?”
“We’ll both be agreeable and have a good time.” At his lifted brow she laughed, hooked her arm through his. “Okay, I’ll have a good time, and you’ll make the best of the situation. Hungry?”
“I could be.”
“Let’s go check out the buffet. If you have a plate in your hand, none of the women who are ogling you will expect you to dance.”
“Nobody’s ogling me.” But he went with her.
“Sure they are. I’d ogle you myself if I didn’t know you.” She debated between the salmon mousse and the stuffed mushrooms, settled on both. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you at the Winter Ball before, and I’ve attended the last three years.”
He’d always been able to use work as an excuse, Jed remembered. He plucked a cube of cheese from her plate and said nothing.
“This conversation thing is tough for you, isn’t it?” She kept a smile on her face as she heaped more food on her plate, then generously held it out to share. “I’ll give you a hand. I say something, then, depending on the content, you laugh, look bemused, annoyed, intrigued, and say something back. Ready?”
“You’ve got an awfully smart mouth, Conroy.”
“Good. Good start.” She sampled a thumb-sized spinach pastry. “Tell me, is your grandmother the Honoria Rodgers who purchased the Qing dynasty cloisonné enamel candle holder, in the form of an elephant, at Christie’s a few months ago?”
“I don’t know about elephants, but she’s the only Honoria Rodgers I’m aware of.”
“Gorgeous piece—at least it looked terrific in the catalogue. I couldn’t get up to New York, but I put in a couple of telephone bids during that auction. Not on the Qing, though. Out of my range. I’d love to see it sometime.”
“If you’re wrangling for an invitation, you should talk to her.”
“Just making chitchat, Skimmerhorn. Try one of these,” she invited with her mouth full, and picked up another pastry. “Incredible.”
Before he could accept or refuse, she had it up to his mouth and in. “Great, huh?”
“I don’t like spinach.” Grimacing, he washed it down with scotch.
“I used to be the same way, but my father got me hooked on it by singing ‘Popeye the Sailorman.’ I was twenty,” she said earnestly. “And naive.” When his lips quirked, she lifted her glass in toast. “There now. And you look so pretty when you smile.”
“Dora, darling.” With her young artist in tow, Ashley glided up to the buffet. “How do you manage to eat like that and stay so slim?”
“Just a little agreement I have with Satan.”
Ashley laughed gaily and gave Jed one long sweeping glance—what Dora would definitely term an ogle. “Isadora Conroy, Heathcliff.” She presented her date as though he were the prize stud at a thoroughbred farm. “I discovered him in this marvelous little gallery on South Street.”
“Oh?” Dora didn’t bother to remind Ashley that her shop was on South. “I’ve always wanted to discover something—like Christopher Columbus. Or Indiana Jones.” Because Heathcliff only looked baffled, she took pity on him. After passing her plate to Jed, she offered a hand. “Ashley tells me you’re an artist.”
“I am. I—”
“He does the most sensual life studies.” Ashley stroked Heathcliff’s arm, as a woman might a favored pet. “You simply must see them sometime.”
“Top of my list.”
“I don’t believe you’ve introduced us to your escort.”
“I don’t have one. That’s an odd term, don’t you think? It sounds as though you’d need someone along because you couldn’t find where you were going yourself. Personally, I have an excellent sense of direction.”
“Dora.” Ashley gave another quick, tinkling laugh. “You’re such a wit.”
“Only half,” Jed said under his breath.
Dora spared him even the mildest of glances. “Jed Skimmerhorn, Ashley Draper and Heathcliff.”
“Oh, I recognized Captain Skimmerhorn.” Ashley held out a hand, waiting until Jed had juggled the plate back to Dora. “I should say, the elusive Captain Skimmerhorn.” Her fingers glided over his. “It’s so rare that we’re able to tempt you to one of our little affairs.”
“I don’t find little affairs tempting.”
This time Ashley’s laugh was low and throaty. “I prefer long, steamy ones myself. And how do you two know each other?”
Dora picked up the ball to save Ashley from one of Jed’s nastier comments. “Jed and I share a passion,” she said, and took a slow, deliberate sip of champagne. “For pincushions.”
Ashley’s avid eyes went blank. “For—”
“Jed has the most incredible collection. We met at a flea market, when we both reached for the Victorian blue-satin-and-lace heart-shaped—pins included.” She gave a fluttery, romantic sigh.
“You collect . . . pincushions?” Ashley asked Jed.
“Since I was a child. It’s an obsession.”
“And he’s such a tease.” Dora gave him an intimate look over the rim of her glass. “He keeps dangling his horse’s hoof with plated mounts under my nose. And he knows perfectly well I’d do anything—anything—to have it.”
“Negotiations . . .” He trailed a fingertip down the line of her throat. “Are open.”
“How fascinating,” Ashley murmured.
“Oh, it is,” Dora agreed. “Oh, there’s Magda and Carl. Excuse us, won’t you? I simply have to catch up.”
“Pincushions?” Jed muttered against her ear as they lost themselves in the crowd.
“I thought about sardine dishes, but they seemed so pretentious.”
“You could have told her the truth.”
“Why?”
He thought about it. “Simplicity?”
“Too boring. Besides, if she knew you lived across the hall from me, she’d start hanging around my apartment, hoping to seduce you. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Lips pursed in consideration, Jed glanced over his shoulder to give Ashley a thorough study. “Well . . .”
“She’d only use you and toss you aside,” Dora assured him. “I see your grandmother over there. Should you join her?”
“Not if you’re going to grill her about candleholders.”
That hadn’t been her intention—exactly. “You’re just afraid she’ll make you dance with me again. Tell you what, I really will go talk to Magda and Carl, and you can catch up with me later, if you like.”
He took her arm, frowned down at his own hand and removed it. “Stick around.”
“What a charming invitation. Why?”
“Because if I’m going to be trapped in here for a couple more hours, it might as well be with you.”
“Poetry, sheer poetry. How can I resist? Let’s go see if your grandmother wants some nibbles. I promise not to bring up candleholders unless it seems appropriate.”
“Jed.”
A hand clamped on his shoulder. Jed braced, turned. “Commissioner,” Jed said, both his face and voice neutral.
“Good to see you.” Police Commissioner James Riker gave Jed a quick but thorough study. What he saw obviously pleased him as his thin, dark face creased in a smile. “You’re keeping fit, I see.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, you were overdue for a vacation, God knows. How was your Christmas?”
“Fine.” Because he couldn’t ignore Riker’s pointed look toward Dora, Jed did his duty. “Commissioner Riker, Dora Conroy.”
“Hello.” As both her hands were full, Dora beamed him a smile instead of a handshake. “So, you’re in charge of keeping the law and order in Philadelphia.”
“I’m in charge of keeping men like Jed on the job.”
If Riker couldn’t feel the tension shimmering off Jed, she could. The need to protect clicked in. Dora smoothly changed the course. “I suppose most of your work now is administrative.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Do you miss the action?” She smiled, handing Jed her empty glass. “In fiction cops always miss the action.”
“As a matter of fact, I do. From time to time.”
“I have to ask. I have this bloodthirsty nephew who’ll want to know. Were you ever shot?”
If the question surprised him, Riker covered it well. “No. Sorry.”
“That’s all right. I’ll lie.”
“I hope you’ll forgive me, Miss Conroy, but I need to steal Jed for a minute. The mayor would like a word with him.”
Dora gave way graciously. “Nice to have met you, Commissioner Riker.”
“My pleasure. I’ll only keep Jed a moment.”
Trapped, Jed handed her back her empty glass. “Excuse me.”
Oh, he really hated this, she mused as she watched him walk away. It hadn’t shown, not in his face, not in his eyes, but he hated it. A man faced a firing squad with more enthusiasm.
When he returned he’d be simmering with fury or tight-lipped with guilt or simply miserable. Feeling for him, Dora wondered if she could find some way to distract him, to turn whatever emotions the commissioner and the mayor managed to stir up into a different channel.
Joke him out of it? she mused as she wandered over to get a refill on her champagne. Irritate it out of him would probably be easier. It wouldn’t even take much effort.
“I would think they would take more care as to who attends these affairs.”
The gravelly voice was instantly recognizable. Dora turned with a bright smile on her face. “Mrs. Dawd, Andrew. How . . . interesting.”
Mrs. Dawd drew air fiercely through her nostrils. “Andrew, fetch my club soda.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Mrs. Dawd, with her bulky frame draped in black satin, leaned forward, close enough that Dora saw the few gray hairs stabbing out of her chin that her tweezers had missed. “I knew what you were, Miss Conroy. I warned him, of course, but Andrew is as susceptible as any man to a woman’s wiles.”
“I had all my wiles surgically removed. I could show you the scars.”
The woman ignored her. “But what would you expect, bred from a family of actors?”
Dora took a careful breath, a careful sip. She would not, absolutely not, let this idiotic old woman make her lose her temper.
“Those acting families,” Dora said lightly. “The Fondas, the Redgraves, the Bridges. God knows how they can be permitted to taint society.”
“You think you’re clever.”
“Mother, here’s your drink.”
Mrs. Dawd swept Andrew and the club soda back with a violent gesture. “You think you’re clever,” she said again, her voice lifting enough to have several onlookers murmuring. “But your little tricks didn’t work.”
“Mother—”
“Be still, Andrew.” There was fire in her eyes now. She was the mama bear protecting her cub.
“Yes, Andrew, be still.” Dora’s smile was tiger sharp. “Mother Dawd was about to tell me about my little tricks. Do you mean the one when I told your slimy son to get his hand out from under my skirt?”
The woman hissed in anger. “You lured him into your apartment, and when your pathetic seduction failed, you attacked him. Because he recognized you for exactly what you are.”
There was a laser gleam in Dora’s eye now. “Which is?”
“Whore,” she hissed. “Slut. Floozy.”
Dora set down her glass to free her hand. She balled it into a fist and gave serious consideration to using it. She settled for upending her plate on Mrs. Dawd’s heavily lacquered hair.
The resulting screech should have shattered crystal. With salmon mousse dripping into her eyes, Mrs. Dawd lunged. Dora braced for the attack, then gave out a howl of her own as she was snatched from behind.
“Jesus Christ, Conroy,” Jed muttered as he dragged her toward the ballroom doors. “Can’t I leave you alone for five minutes?”
“Let me go!” She might have taken a swing at him, but he locked her arms at her sides. “She had it coming.”
“I don’t feel like bailing you out of jail.” He strode toward a sitting area with cushy chairs and potted plants. He heard the orchestra strike up “Stormy Weather.”
Perfect.
“Sit.” He punctuated the order with a shove that had her tumbling into a chair. “Pull yourself together.”
“Look, Skimmerhorn, that was my own personal business.”
“You want me to have the commissioner haul you in for disturbing the peace?” he asked mildly. “A couple hours in the tank would cool you off.”
He would, too, she thought viciously. Dora huffed, tapped her foot, folded her arms. “Give me a—”
He already had a cigarette lit and was handing it to her.
“Thanks.” She fell into silence.
He knew her routine. She would take three, maybe four quick shallow puffs, then stab it out.
One, he counted. Two. She shot him a furious glare. Three.
“I didn’t start it.” Her lips moved into a pout as she crushed out the cigarette.
Jed decided it was safe to sit. “I didn’t say you did.”
“You didn’t threaten to have her arrested.”
“I figured she was going to have enough problems picking pimentos out of her hair. Want a drink?”
“No.” She preferred to sulk. “Look, Skimmerhorn, she was insulting me, my family, women in general. And I took it,” she said righteously. “I took it even when she called me a tramp, a slut, a whore.”
A great deal of his amusement faded. “She said that to you?”
“And I took it,” Dora barreled on, “because I kept telling myself she was just a crazy old lunatic. I was not going to cause a scene. I was not going to lower myself to her level. Then she went too far, she went one step too far.”
“What did she do?”
“She called me a—a floozy.”
Jed blinked, gamely struggled to swallow the tickle at the back of his neck. “A what?”
“A floozy,” she repeated, slapping her fist on the chair.
“Let’s go take her down.”
Dora’s chin came up, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
“I’m not. Who’s laughing?”
“You are, damn it. You’re biting your tongue right now to hold it back.”
“I am not.”
“You are too. You’re slurring your words.”
“It’s the scotch.”
“Like hell.” She turned her head away, but he’d caught the quiver of her lips. When he brought her face back to his, they grinned foolishly at each other.
“You made it an interesting evening, Conroy.”
“Well.” Her temper spent, she giggled, then leaned back to rest her head on his shoulder. “I was trying to think of some way to distract you so you wouldn’t be upset from the mayor and Riker.”
“Why should I be upset?”
“They were pressuring you, weren’t they?” Though he didn’t move, she felt a part of him shift away. “Lucky for me, Mrs. Dawd came along so I didn’t have to invent something.”
“So you dumped food on her head to lift my spirits.”
“No, it was strictly a selfish act, but it did have a nice side benefit.” She turned her head. “Give me a kiss, will you?”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like one. Just a friendly one.”
He put a finger under her chin to tip it up, touched his lips to hers. “Friendly enough?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
She started to smile, but he shifted his hand, cupped it around her throat. With his eyes open, he lowered his mouth to hers again, teased her lips apart with his tongue and tasted the arousal on her first shaky breath.
It was like water, pure, sweet water after an agonizing thirst. He sipped easily.
She felt the rush of need, the hard, sharp-edged wave of it that left her limp. He didn’t bring her closer, nor did he deepen the kiss. Instead it was slow, cool, devastatingly controlled.
When he drew back, she kept her eyes closed, absorbing the flood of sensation. Her heart was still pounding in her ears when she opened her eyes. “God,” was all she managed to say.
“Problem?”
“I think so.” She pressed her lips together. She could have sworn they were vibrating. “I think . . . I think I’ll go.” Her knees wobbled when she stood. It was very difficult, she thought, to be in charge of a situation when your knees wobbled. She pressed a hand to her stomach where the hard ball of need had hotly lodged. “God,” she said again, and walked away.