Kitabı oku: «Fortune's Heirs: Reunion», sayfa 6

Blind luck?

No, that was a bit harsh, he thought. He had to give the woman her due. Talking to her, he’d come away with the feeling that although she seemed bullheaded, she also seemed to have something on the ball.

He’d done a little poking around into her background, looking into her past business dealings. From all appearances, she had done well in Denver. And there was every indication that she would have continued to do well had she remained there.

But she’d chosen to move back to Texas and start over again. Why?

Was it just to get away from an ex-husband and come home, or something else? Were there memories that haunted her, causing her to leave?

He could understand that. When Ann had died so suddenly, leaving him in an emotional abyss, he’d almost dropped out. He’d found himself unable to deal with seeing her face everywhere he went, remembering the times they’d spent together. It had been hell. If he hadn’t had only one semester to go and his father hadn’t been so persuasive, he might very well have just given in to his desire to become a beach bum.

Who was he kidding? He was far too much of a type A personality to be content sipping drinks out of a hollowed-out coconut shell and make that his life’s preoccupation.

So why had Gloria decided to suddenly uproot everything and start all over again? That was something he hadn’t been able to find out. He didn’t believe she’d just wanted to come home again. You went where the money was.

Reaching her shop, he saw that the glass doors no longer afforded a view of the interior. There was paper taped to the inside to keep passersby from looking in. Given her personality, he found that somewhat unusual. She struck him as someone who enjoyed an audience.

Jack tried the door and it gave.

Leaving the door unlocked was more like her, he mused. The next moment the realization that he thought himself familiar enough with the woman to be able to second-guess her stopped him in his tracks. He had no idea what she was capable of, he silently insisted.

Slipping inside, he saw that rather than a team of people, there was only one worker around, a slender youth bending over a can of paint, preparing to pour the contents into a paint tray. He had on a cap, pulled down low, and there was periwinkle-blue paint drizzled all over his coveralls.

The other workers were probably on a break, taking advantage of the woman, he decided. Good thing he’d decided to show up. Apparently she only knew how to order around one person at a time.

Coming up behind the youth, he addressed the painter’s back. “Excuse me, do you know where I can find Gloria Johansen?”

Startled, the painter swung around. The radio was turned on and although the music was soft, it had obviously masked any noise he might have made entering the store.

A grin flashed and he recognized it instantly. “What’s it worth to you?”

He scowled. Up close, he noticed the figure, even in coveralls, was pretty curvy. “Gloria.”

She set down the roller and laughed as she picked up a towel to dry her hands. “And here I thought you didn’t recognize me.”

He wished she’d stop smiling. It was infinitely more difficult hanging on to his annoyance with her smiling at him like that. “What are you doing?”

She pretended to consider the question. “Well, let’s see. Coveralls, paint, roller—I’ll take a wild stab at it and say I’m painting.”

“I know you’re painting.” He bit the words off. “Why are you painting?”

“Because I’m good at it,” she answered glibly, her eyes twinkling as she added in a hushed, amused tone, “And—and you’ll like this part,” she assured him, placing a hand on his wrist to keep him in place, a move that was far too familiar for his liking. “Because I can save money doing it myself.”

His frown only deepened, as did his annoyance. And yet part of him admired her enthusiasm. Not that he’d ever admit that, of course. “Don’t you have other things to do?”

“Lots,” she said. “And this was supposed to be going faster, but my brother dropped out on me.” She looked at him and obviously decided that he needed more information. “Jorge was supposed to come by to help but he was distracted at the last minute.”

He swore that every third sentence out of her mouth was an enigma. He needed a codebook to understand what she was saying. “Distracted?”

Her tone was resigned, forgiving. “I’m afraid that my brother’s libido is larger than his sense of responsibility when it come to promises he makes to his little sister.” Gloria moved her shoulders in a careless shrug beneath the coarse coveralls. “Maybe it’s for the best. He can be rather sloppy.” And then her eyes lit up again and she looked at him as though suddenly seeing him for the first time. He felt as if he was watching the birth of an idea. “You, on the other hand, would probably do an excellent job.”

He caught on before the sentence was out of her mouth. “If you’re trying to go all Tom Sawyer on me, I’m afraid it’s not going to work.” There were a hundred things he would do before agreeing to pick up a paintbrush or a roller.

Undaunted, she pressed on. He had a feeling that other than tight spaces, very little daunted this woman.

“As I recall, Tom Sawyer pretended he was having so much fun that the other boys begged him to let them try their hand at it and even offered to trade things for the privilege of whitewashing his aunt Polly’s fence.” She opened her eyes wide, the very picture of innocence. A picture he wasn’t buying. “I wouldn’t presume to try to suck you into doing something with a lie.”

She was a clever woman. Was she being transparent on purpose? “No, you’d use flattery.”

The innocent expression remained intact. “No way. Just observation. You’re a type A personality. You believe in being hands-on and you need to oversee everything yourself. People like that are too intense not to be good. Am I right?”

He watched in fascination as the smile on her lips blossomed and subsequently moved into her eyes. He supposed it wasn’t only Irish eyes, as the old song went, that smiled, but dark, mesmerizing Mexican ones, as well.

He found he had to force words to his lips. “I’ve never painted anything in my life.”

She nodded, as though expecting him to say as much. He felt as if he was involved in some kind of cosmic chess game.

“It’s not hard, really. You just put paint on the roller.” She picked one up to demonstrate, moving the roller up and down in the paint tray. “These rollers don’t allow you to drip and they absorb just the right amount to cover a given space.” She raised her eyes to his face. “You almost can’t fail.”

The look in her eyes dared him.

He found part of himself actually entertaining the idea and wondered if the paint fumes were getting to him. In the background he heard Blondie singing “‘I’m gonna getcha, getcha, getcha…’”

“I’ll get my suit dirty,” Jack continued.

She spread her hands to her sides. “Not a problem. I’ve an extra set of coveralls.” She nodded over to the side.

He didn’t bother looking to verify. For the moment, she had captivated his attention. He told himself he could walk away anytime he chose. So, for the time being, he chose to remain.

“You come prepared.”

“They were for Jorge.” Her eyes slid slowly from his head to his toes. Her smile widened as a tinge of triumph highlighted it. “I’d say that you were about his height, give or take an inch.”

“How convenient.” Maybe this woman could have shown old Tom Sawyer a trick or two, he thought, amused despite himself.

Her smile warmed him as it washed over him. “Yes, isn’t it? They’re in the back room if you feel like trying them on.”

He didn’t move an inch. “And why would I want to do that?”

Her answer came without hesitation. The space between them, he noted, seemed to have been whittled down to nothing without either of them taking another step.

“So that you can conquer something else,” she told him.

He wasn’t altogether sure if she was talking about painting or if “something else” referred to a whole different subject entirely. All he knew was that the chemistry that seemed to act up every time he got within ten feet of her was present as always.

She stood waiting for his answer. Her expression indicated that she was rather certain of the outcome. He knew he should just turn on his heel and walk out. That would have been the smart thing to do. After all, he didn’t like the smell of paint and he was far too busy a man to waste his time dipping a roller into a tray of periwinkle-blue liquid.

Finally, with a shrug, he turned away from her. But instead of heading for the papered doors, he walked in the opposite direction, toward the back.

So he’d try something new, he told himself.

He supposed Gloria was to be commended for trying to cut corners and save money. That made her a decent businesswoman. It was in keeping with what he’d already found out about her.

And he’d lied to her. He had painted before. He’d helped one of his roommates paint their dorm room while he was in college. They’d painted one wall stark black, the other three walls a virgin white. It had been very dramatic at the time. Now he had a feeling it would have driven him crazy.

He found the coveralls hanging on the inside of the back room door. Shedding his jacket and tie, he pulled the garment over his slacks and shirt.

“You’re right.” He snapped shut the row of snaps that ran along his chest. The coveralls felt a little tight, but not as bad as they could have. He could still move his arm. “Your brother and I are just about the same size…”

His voice trailed off as he came out of the back room and saw her balancing herself on the next-to-the-topmost rung on the ladder. Was she crazy? “What the hell are you doing up there?”

She turned around slowly to look down at him from the top of the ladder. Humor curved the corners of her mouth. “Am I going to have to explain this all over to you again? I’m painting.”

“No, you’re not,” he corrected, really angry. “You’re risking breaking your neck.”

He wasn’t just a type A personality, she thought, he was a worrier. She bristled against his implication that she was too clumsy to be careful.

“I’m standing on a ladder—A does not exactly equal B here.”

He wasn’t going to debate this with her. “Get down,” he ordered.

Humor vanished. Her eyes narrowed into slits. He should have picked up on the warning, but he could almost see her flying off the ladder. “You’re not in charge of me, Fortune.”

He had a different opinion. “I am when you don’t make an effort to use your brains and right now, they appear to be taking a break.”

“For your information, I’ve climbed ladders before, Fortune.” Open space had never been a problem for her. She had absolutely no fear of heights.

“Only means your luck is that much closer to running out.” Crossing the floor, he came up to the ladder and stood right beneath her. “Now get down.”

Anger surged through her. She stubbornly refused to budge. “Damn it, Jack, why do you insist on always seeing the glass as half empty?”

“Because it usually is. Now get down,” he ordered again.

Gloria was sorely tempted to give him a piece of her mind, but she didn’t want to alienate his father and most fathers didn’t relish hearing that their sons compared to jackasses.

She blew out a breath. “All right, I’m coming down, but only because I need to refill my roller.”

“Whatever.” He held the ladder braced as she made her way down. In his opinion, she was moving awfully fast.

She was moving faster than that when she hit the next-to-the-last rung. Missing it, she slipped and went sailing off.

Right into his arms.

Chapter Eight

Sheer instinct had guided his movements. Jack caught her without thinking. One second he was standing below Gloria, the next she’d somehow twisted around and was airborne.

The ladder she’d involuntarily vacated wobbled dangerously for a second, but mercifully remained standing upright. Jack hardly noticed. He was too busy assessing the immediate situation. That he was holding a stunningly gorgeous woman in his arms.

And that he was reacting to her.

Gloria’s eyes widened and for a second he thought she’d suddenly become aware that she had hurt something. But when she blurted a heartfelt, “I’m so sorry,” followed by possibly the sexiest giggle he could ever recall hearing, Jack knew that there was nothing broken, bruised or injured.

At least where she was concerned. The jury was still out in regard to him.

Her eyes weren’t on his face. Looking somewhat chagrined, she was staring at his chest. Jack looked down to see what she was looking at. The roller she’d been wielding was still clutched in her hand. He realized that Gloria must have accidentally hit him with it when she’d come sailing off the ladder. He was now sporting the same color across his chest that was on the freshly painted wall. Periwinkle blue.

He frowned. It didn’t take much imagination to realize how narrowly she’d missed hitting his face. “I thought the idea was to paint the wall, not me.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

Looking closer, he could see that Gloria was obviously battling facial muscles, trying to keep them in line so that she could at least look somewhat contrite. But the grin was winning. Why he found that endearing rather than annoying he had no idea.

She blew out a breath, still tugging the corners of her mouth down. “Lucky thing I had you put on those coveralls.”

“I think it was luckier that I was here to catch you.”

“It was only one rung,” she pointed out. “And I wouldn’t have slipped if you hadn’t made me so nervous.”

Other than the incident with the air bag, Gloria Mendoza struck him as someone who possessed nerves of steel. And, he had to admit, he also found it a little intriguing.

His face still inches away from hers, Jack searched her expression for the telltale signs of humor. But this time, there was none. She was serious. His interest heightened.

“I make you nervous?”

Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have said that, Gloria upbraided herself. But it wasn’t as if she were giving away some kind of deep, dark state secret. The man had to know that his looking over her shoulder was making her second-guess herself. That kind of thing would make anyone nervous.

Gloria looked at him pointedly. She decided not to backtrack. Honesty was usually the best policy, anyway. Lies were far harder to keep straight. “Yes, you do. By the way—” amusement played across her lips “—when do you think you’ll be putting me down?”

He’d gotten so caught up in his reaction to her, he’d completely forgotten that he was still holding her. Feeling a little like an idiot, Jack set her on the floor. As he did so, it felt as if he was doing it in slow motion. He was utterly aware of every movement, every part of her body that came in contact with his as he released her.

Moreover, he could feel a reluctance humming in his body, an annoying reluctance he was entirely unfamiliar with.

Well, perhaps not entirely, he amended silently, but it had been a long, long time since he’d felt the stirrings of genuine desire awakening his body.

It was just a male reaction to a beautiful woman, he insisted, nothing more.

Except that he generally wasn’t laid siege to by those kinds of feelings. He kept himself so busy that physical reactions were things that, for the most part, did not enter into his life. Even on those rare occasions when he had to take someone to a business function, he was more interested in working the room, in securing professional alliances for the bank, than he was with being attentive to his date of the evening.

He might be a brilliant strategist in the corporate world, but in the social realm, he knew that he was woefully out of step.

And he intended to remain that way no matter what the hell was going on here.

“How…” His throat felt strangely tight and he cleared it to not sacrifice his normal deep pitch. “How exactly do I make you nervous?”

When she raised her eyes to his, he felt something turn over in his belly then tighten into a knot. “Just knowing you’re watching does it.”

Jack fell back on sarcasm, his weapon of choice around someone like Gloria. “Can’t very well walk around with a blindfold when I’m around you, can I?”

“No.” Her mouth curved and he had the oddest desire to taste her lips. To see if they were as velvety smooth as they appeared.

The thought sent a jolt through his system.

What the hell was wrong with him? He was Jack Fortune, he could have any woman he wanted and he didn’t want any.

He didn’t want any, he underscored fiercely, knowing in his gut that he was doing one damn poor job of convincing himself.

For self-preservation, he took a step away from her. It made him angry that he suddenly seemed to have no control over himself. “Okay, where do you want me?” he snapped at her.

An answer flew to her lips. She counted herself fortunate that her mouth was closed at the time because what she would have said in response to his question would have gotten them both in trouble.

Next to me. In bed.

She was just as startled to think it as he would have been to hear it. What in heaven’s name had come over her? After realizing just how bad Gary was for her, she had managed to wean herself off the idea of men altogether. They were in part responsible for the uneven, disastrous path she’d followed for more than ten years.

But her bet with her sisters had been more for their sakes than for her own. When she’d made it, she’d been more than confident that she wouldn’t succumb to any kind of temptation because after what she’d been through with Gary and the men who had come before, she was utterly certain that she could swear them off as easily as a nonsmoker could swear off cigarettes.

So why did smoking suddenly seem so alluring?

The man didn’t even like her, for heaven’s sake. And he was the son of the man who was backing her business. This had “complications” stamped all over it. Was she utterly out of her mind?

Yes, she had to be. Because she didn’t need or want to be involved with any men except for those within her own family. End of story.

Except that it wasn’t. Damn him, Jack was holding her in place with that dark look in his eyes, the one that should be putting her back up because it generally appeared to be so superior-looking.

But her back wasn’t up and she felt as if her body had been placed on alert. Waiting for something to happen. Dreading it and wanting it at the same time.

Her mouth felt dry. Gloria was uncomfortably aware that other more sensitive parts of her body had obviously absorbed all the moisture. She shifted her weight. It didn’t help.

“Where do I want you?” she repeated, as if giving the matter genuine thought rather than lip service. She looked around the shop. There were only so many places for him to work. “Over there would be nice,” she finally replied, pointing vaguely toward the opposite wall.

It was as far from her as was physically possible within the store. In distance there was safety. Or so she could hope.

“Okay,” he agreed mechanically. He wasn’t even looking where she was pointing.

Instead of picking up the paint can that Gloria had pushed up against the counter, Jack took the paint roller out of her hand and placed it on top of the closed container.

“You’re not moving.” The words, uttered in slow motion, tasted like cotton.

His eyes were intent on hers as he made up his mind. The second he did, excitement telegraphed itself through him. “I think that we need to get something out of our system first.”

Her mind whirled as she desperately searched for something to say. Something flippant to put him off because, God help her, she had a feeling she knew what was coming. And that it would be her undoing.

She took a deep breath. “I was never one for purging.”

“Sometimes—” his voice caressed her “—it has to be done in order to move forward.”

Think, Glory, think. “I heard leeches are coming back into vogue.”

Damn it. It felt as if his eyes were nailing her in place. This wasn’t even sporting. Why couldn’t Patrick Fortune have had ugly children? Or, barring that, why did he have to have a son who set her pulse racing the moment said son was anywhere within fifteen feet of her?

It just wasn’t fair, she’d done her time, Gloria thought in mounting desperation, still not moving from where she stood. She didn’t want to sink back into the velvet confines of desire. She wanted to be a nun—no, better than that, she wanted to be like one of those poor souls in Arabian fairy tales whose duty it was to guard the sultan’s wives. Eunuchs had their desire made null and void.

There was nothing null and void about her reaction to him.

Damn, she was supposed to be through with desire.

Jack pretended to dig through his pockets, searching for imaginary leeches. “Fresh out.”

“That’s a shame.” Gloria could feel the air getting caught in her throat. It had to be forced out. “I’ll take a rain check.”

“Gloria?”

Jack’s breath whispered along her skin. She would have swallowed if only there was something to swallow. “Yes?”

“Shut up.”

He saw a flash of temper in her eyes before it faded away. It only served to excite him further. Jack feathered his fingers through her hair, framing her face as he tilted it up to his.

If her heart hammered any harder, it was going to break into a million pieces. In self-defense, she began to talk again. “I heard a moving target is more of a challenge.”

“All right then, consider me challenged.”

He ran his thumb along her lower lip. He felt a pulsing in his loins as desire took a larger bite out of him. Unable to breathe, Jack brought his mouth down on hers.

Her mind went blank.

Her body went on automatic pilot.

Gloria threaded her arms around his neck, leaning her body into his as something that sounded vaguely like Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus” suddenly exploded inside her body and head.

Sunshine shot beams right and left, all but setting her on fire.

No, scratch that, she thought, he was setting her on fire.

Desperation scrambled through her, screaming, “Mayday.” Damn it, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But oh dear Lord, it was glorious.

She clung harder, kissed harder. Determined that if she was going to be plowed under, she was going to leave her mark on him before she disintegrated.

It wasn’t working.

He’d made himself beard the lion in his den. Her den as the case was, he amended. More than anything, he wanted to get this, whatever it was that was bedeviling him, out of his system, put it behind him so that he would stop being ravaged by the claws of temptation and get on with his life.

In his experience, nothing ever lived up to hype, never came close to meeting expectations. Immeasurable disappointment always followed swiftly in the wake of anticipation, even minor anticipation. Forget about anything major. Major expectations always brought major disappointment crashing down about his ears.

And yet, he wasn’t disappointed.

At least, not in his expectations. What he was disappointed in was himself. Because instead of backing away, instead of feeling nothing more stirring than a smattering of indifference when he kissed her, he wanted more.

Hell, he wanted her.

Here, now, with paint being transferred from his coveralls to hers, he wanted to make love with her on the floor, on the counter, against the ladder. Everywhere and anywhere.

A rush was traveling through him the likes of which he couldn’t begin to fathom.

He wanted no part of it, it would only serve to confuse and complicate everything.

And yet he wanted more.

Wanted to embrace this sweet, agonizing sensation and fall into it until it completely cocooned him.

His very lungs ached.

It was not unlike the way they had felt when he had run his one and only New York marathon at the age of thirty. Any second now his lungs were going to explode. They’d already put him on notice.

With effort, he pulled himself back, abruptly ending what he’d abruptly started.

Gloria looked up at him, her expression as dazed as he felt.

It was a full minute before there was enough air in her lungs for her to form even a single word. “So,” she finally whispered.

“So,” he echoed, his mind nothing more than a vast wasteland.

Gloria pressed her lips together, wanting to kiss him again. Wanting to make love with him. Grateful that he hadn’t pressed the advantage that was so obviously his. Eventually she gathered together enough breath to say, “It’s behind us.”

Not by a long shot, Jack thought, unless he exerted superhuman control. Still, for the sake of sanity he went along with the pretense.

“Guess so.”

Any second now she was going to do something very stupid and throw herself back into his arms. Desperation began to vibrate through her. Her eyes never leaving his face, she took a step backward. “Maybe we should get back to work.”

“Maybe.”

All he could do was utter a solitary word, perhaps two. The way his thoughts were all scrambling into each other, he didn’t think that he was capable of constructing a coherent compound sentence. Right now, every word in his vocabulary was on a fantastic ride inside the blender that was his brain, whirling around and making no sense whatsoever.

Her legs felt shaky, just the way they had when he’d pulled her out of the car earlier this week right after the air bag had threatened to separate her from her claim to being a rational being. Maybe she should lump him right up there with claustrophobia. Heaven knew he had the same kind of impact on her that she felt when she was confined to small spaces. Panic had been at the center of her reaction just now. The kind of panic that occurred when she found circumstances utterly out of control and beyond her reach.

He had done that to her.

So why did she want to kiss him again?

And why in heaven’s name did she want to take what was going on here to the next level?

The second she’d thought of making love with him, something snapped to attention inside of her, an iron resolve set in place to keep her sane.

No, damn it, she wasn’t going to go that route again, she wasn’t going to follow her hormones down that same hazardous, slippery slope. She was older, wiser—well, at least older. Wasn’t wisdom supposed to kick in at some point by now?

Willing herself back to some semblance of composure, she looked down at her overalls. The vivid splotch of paint she’d smeared across his chest when he had caught her had transferred itself onto her. Despite the seriousness of the situation she found herself in, Gloria could feel her mouth curving.

“Looks like we’re part of some club.” And then she cleared her throat, determined to give the performance of a lifetime. She fixed a bright, cheerful smile to her lips, the kind she summoned when dealing with a particularly trying customer whose account she wanted to acquire.

“Well, I’m glad that we got that out of our systems. Now maybe we can get down to work.” She pointed toward the far wall. “If you take that wall over there, I’ll finish up over here.”

She sounded glib, as if she was accustomed to being kissed by men all the time.

Given the way she looked, maybe she was, Jack decided. Women like Gloria were the object of a great many men’s fantasies and desires.

Something else stirred inside of him. Jealousy.

Jack banked it down, swiftly, firmly. There was no way he could be jealous. He hardly knew her. And it was going to stay that way.

He gratefully took his cue from the woman, relieved that she wasn’t asking to have some kind of a heart-to-heart about what he had just foolishly done. A lot of other women would have demanded to have it out, asking him where he thought “this” was going to go.

As if he knew.

He hadn’t a clue. He didn’t even know what “this” was. And right now, he wasn’t up to discussing anything except how many coats of paint she wanted to spread on her walls. Anything else would have required a more complex thinking process than he was capable of mustering at this point in time.

Nodding, he picked up the container of paint and took the roller she handed him. “Thanks.”

Her throat felt bone-dry as she replied, “Don’t mention it.”

“I won’t.”

It was a promise he was making her, she suddenly realized.

She stood and watched him for a second as he pried off the container’s lid, then poured some of the contents into a tray. Did that mean he had felt something, too? It would be nice to know that she hadn’t been alone during the blitzkrieg she’d just experienced.

“Fine,” she responded.

Then, to keep him from saying anything else, Gloria turned up the radio. A love song filled the air. She was quick to switch stations. But the next one belonged to a call-in talk show. The host was venting about a proposed tax bill. Muttering under her breath, she switched around until she found a country-and-western station.

With a smile, she left it on.

Roller raised to begin, Jack groaned as he looked at her over his shoulder. “Oh, God, you actually listen to country music?”

Good, they were back in their corners again, she thought. On opposite sides of an issue. She waited for the safe feeling to return, the one that told her she had nothing to fear.

This time, the feeling didn’t come.

Maybe later, she thought hopefully. “Every chance I get.”

Jack frowned, turning back to the wall. Trying to block out the music. “I didn’t think you were the type for crying-in-your-beer songs.”