you to dinner to get you out of the house so this could happen.”
“Well, of course not. Why would . . .” She followed the dots. “Vince. I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s his job. And now I see I’ve put the same suspicion in your head.”
“No, not . . .” But she was trying it on. “Not really. It’s just been a very strange week. I think I’ve dealt with Vince twice on a professional level since I moved here. Now it’s been twice in a matter of days. He must’ve come by your hotel room this morning. I’m sorry.”
“Just routine. But coming home and finding your house has been burgled isn’t.” He reached out, touched her cheek. “I was worried about you.”
The warmth pumped up a few degrees. She told herself it wasn’t a good fit—Willy Young and Max Gannon in league. And that if Max was of the ilk, she’d know.
Like, she believed, recognized like.
“I’m okay. Jenny and Angie will work the shop today while I put the house back into shape.” She gestured toward the living room. “I’ve barely made a dent. Good thing I like to shop, because that’ll be stage two.”
He stepped around her, looking into the room himself.
It could be taken for a spate of vandalism accompanying a burglary. But to Max’s eyes it looked like what it was: a fast, nasty search. And if they’d gotten what they were after, he didn’t think Laine would be calmly clearing up the debris and talking about shopping.
Nobody was that cool.
On the tail of that thought, he imagined her coming home alone, in the dark, and opening her house to this. Small wonder she had shadows under her eyes and the pale look of a woman who’d spent a sleepless night.
“They did a number on you,” he murmured.
“Not the usual thing in the Gap. When I lived in Philadelphia, I worked with a woman who went home one night, found her apartment broken into. They cleaned her out and spray-painted obscenities on the walls.”
He looked back at her. “So it could be worse?”
“It can always be worse. Listen, I’ve put the kitchen back together and made a quick morning run to the store so there’s coffee. You want?”
“I always want.” He walked to her. She looked so fresh.
All that bright hair pulled back from that pretty face, her eyes only bluer with the shadows haunting them. She smelled like soap, just soap. The innocent charm of freckles was sprinkled over her nose.
“Laine, I’m not looking to get in your way, but . . . let me help you.”
“Help me what?”
He wasn’t sure, but he knew he meant it, that the offer was unqualified. He looked at her, and he wanted to help. “For a start, I can help you put your house back together.”
“You don’t have to do that. You must have work—”
“Let me help.” He cut off her protest simply by taking her hand. “I’ve got time, and the fact is, if I went on my way, I’d worry about you and I’d never get anything done anyway.”
“That’s awfully sweet.” And she knew she was a goner. “That’s really very sweet.”
“And there’s this one other thing.” He took a step forward, into her, which put her back up against the wall. Still, when his mouth came down, the kiss was slow and smooth, almost dreamy. She felt her knees unlock and go halfway to dissolve before he lifted his head. “If I didn’t do that, I’d be thinking about doing it. Figured we’d get more done if I got it out of the way first.”
“Good.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Finished?”
“Not hardly.”
“That’s good, too. Coffee,” she decided before they started rolling around on the floor of the disordered room instead of setting it to rights. “I’ll just get that coffee.”
She walked back toward the kitchen, with the dog prancing happily beside her. It helped, for the moment, to keep busy. Grinding beans, measuring coffee into the French press. He’d gotten her nerves up again, she realized. He was just leaning against the
“Well, of course not. Why would . . .” She followed the dots. “Vince. I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s his job. And now I see I’ve put the same suspicion in your head.”
“No, not . . .” But she was trying it on. “Not really. It’s just been a very strange week. I think I’ve dealt with Vince twice on a professional level since I moved here. Now it’s been twice in a matter of days. He must’ve come by your hotel room this morning. I’m sorry.”
“Just routine. But coming home and finding your house has been burgled isn’t.” He reached out, touched her cheek. “I was worried about you.”
The warmth pumped up a few degrees. She told herself it wasn’t a good fit—Willy Young and Max Gannon in league. And that if Max was of the ilk, she’d know.
Like, she believed, recognized like.
“I’m okay. Jenny and Angie will work the shop today while I put the house back into shape.” She gestured toward the living room. “I’ve barely made a dent. Good thing I like to shop, because that’ll be stage two.”
He stepped around her, looking into the room himself.
It could be taken for a spate of vandalism accompanying a burglary. But to Max’s eyes it looked like what it was: a fast, nasty search. And if they’d gotten what they were after, he didn’t think Laine would be calmly clearing up the debris and talking about shopping.
Nobody was that cool.
On the tail of that thought, he imagined her coming home alone, in the dark, and opening her house to this. Small wonder she had shadows under her eyes and the pale look of a woman who’d spent a sleepless night.
“They did a number on you,” he murmured.
“Not the usual thing in the Gap. When I lived in Philadelphia, I worked with a woman who went home one night, found her apartment broken into. They cleaned her out and spray-painted obscenities on the walls.”
He looked back at her. “So it could be worse?”
“It can always be worse. Listen, I’ve put the kitchen back together and made a quick morning run to the store so there’s coffee. You want?”
“I always want.” He walked to her. She looked so fresh.
All that bright hair pulled back from that pretty face, her eyes only bluer with the shadows haunting them. She smelled like soap, just soap. The innocent charm of freckles was sprinkled over her nose.
“Laine, I’m not looking to get in your way, but . . . let me help you.”
“Help me what?”
He wasn’t sure, but he knew he meant it, that the offer was unqualified. He looked at her, and he wanted to help. “For a start, I can help you put your house back together.”
“You don’t have to do that. You must have work—”
“Let me help.” He cut off her protest simply by taking her hand. “I’ve got time, and the fact is, if I went on my way, I’d worry about you and I’d never get anything done anyway.”
“That’s awfully sweet.” And she knew she was a goner. “That’s really very sweet.”
“And there’s this one other thing.” He took a step forward, into her, which put her back up against the wall. Still, when his mouth came down, the kiss was slow and smooth, almost dreamy. She felt her knees unlock and go halfway to dissolve before he lifted his head. “If I didn’t do that, I’d be thinking about doing it. Figured we’d get more done if I got it out of the way first.”
“Good.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Finished?”
“Not hardly.”
“That’s good, too. Coffee,” she decided before they started rolling around on the floor of the disordered room instead of setting it to rights. “I’ll just get that coffee.”
She walked back toward the kitchen, with the dog prancing happily beside her. It helped, for the moment, to keep busy. Grinding beans, measuring coffee into the French press. He’d gotten her nerves up again, she realized. He was just leaning against the
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