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polished hardwood floor. Whoever lived here was obviously getting ready to move out. He
glanced from the comfortably arranged furniture to the mantle, and his frown deepened.
He crossed the room and looked at the photographs in little silver frames of a man and a
woman with a little girl. There were several other photos there, but his eyes were drawn to the
face of a teenage girl smiling into the camera. A high school photo, judging by the innocent youth,
but nonetheless recognizable as the woman who stood in the doorway behind him, glaring at his
back so evilly.
No wonder she was so irritated this was her apartment. He lifted a small porcelain lamb
and smiled slowly. She was afraid he was going to take the place. He understood now her reaction
when he had asked to see it. But why was she leaving? Most people left an apartment for a nicer
one. He had the distinct impression that she was not leaving willingly.
He set the delicate lamb down and moved to the door of her bedroom. He was curious
now. He stepped through the open door and smiled at the comfortably situated room. He
instinctively knew this was her special place. He noted the old, well-worn books piled on the
bed, ready to be packed into waiting boxes. He glanced at the dresser and stepped across to lift a
tiny flagon of scent, noting that it was definitely the one she wore. Inexpensive but most effective.
He pursed his lips as he set it back onto the scarred but well-polished wood, and turned
to look into her bathroom. He noted the discarded business suit, the silk blouse, glimmering
nylons that had been hastily dragged off in favor of her current unattractive garb. He drew a slow
breath. He certainly didn't need to feel his body responding to a woman's discarded clothing! He
noted the delicate scrap of underwear that lay on the edge of a wicker hamper, and he frowned as
he resisted lifting it, and moved on to look into the bath.
A utilitarian, threadbare terry cloth bathrobe hung on the door, smelling incongruously of
roses, and he noted that her hand-washing still hung in the tub on the drying rack. Surprising
underwear for a woman who wore such casual attire to vacuum halls. He felt a jerk somewhere
south of his belt and fought it down. She was quite an enigma.
He turned and noted that she was no longer in the bedroom doorway glaring evilly at him.
He stepped out of the room and saw her perched like a recalcitrant child on the arm of her sofa,
her eyes on her sneakers.
Strange how things seemed to fall into place when you least expected them to.
He crossed the room to the mantle again, and turned to face her, hands shoved deep in his
pockets. She refused to look at him.  Why didn't you tell me this was your place? he asked in a
quiet, husky voice.
Chris swallowed hard, her eyes lifting to his. She tried not to let the shimmer of tears
show as she shrugged.  It isn't mine anymore. I'm moving."
"Why? The single word made her blink. She frowned across at him, irritated that he was
so damned curious about something that was hurting like hell!
"Does it matter? Do you like the place or not? She sounded angrier than she was, but she
didn't trust her voice not to crack.
"It might matter. And yes, I do like it. He answered each question in its turn.
She swallowed hard. His dark, intense eyes were enough to make her swallow her damn
tongue. A woman could definitely get lost in those eyes, and the man had such a finely made
body! Even an outrageously expensive suit couldn't camouflage that six pack and those powerful
shoulders. She inhaled slowly and rose from the arm of the sofa, hugging herself as she paced to
the open door. She didn't want him in here anymore. She wanted him to leave. He seemed to
take up all the oxygen in the place.
"It shouldn't. It's my problem. If you've seen what you came to see, I have work to do
downstairs. She was agitated, her voice gruff.
He seemed to sense that she was desperate, yet he refused to be driven away. He casually [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]