cheek.
Chemistry. A certain draw, she told herself firmly. Almost animal instinct.
Thank God she was human, of course. She could feel such things and never act upon them.
Oh, God! But she was losing it.
âKatie,â he said softly. âI would be delightedâno, I insist that you make my home your own. And as Iâve said, Iâll be happy to leave, if you deem it necessary.â
His voice was husky. Low. Masculine. As sensual as his smile.
Yes, leave. One of us needs to, she thought.
She was being an idiot.
âFine,â she said. âWeâll stayâuntil we can leave, of course.â She realized she was still hunched down, gathering up shoes. She was very close to him. She could inhale that very pleasant and subtle scent of man and soap and after-shave.
She stood quickly. âIâll put these upstairs, out of the way,â she told him.
âFine,â he said.
Katie turned and ran up the stairs, opening a closet to dump the shoes.
The closet was empty.
Well, perhaps he didnât have a live-in girlfriend.
Idiot, Katie told herself. If he did have a live-in girlfriend, sheâd probably be living in his room!
She slipped into Midge Hollowayâs loafers and found them a reasonable fitâthe shoes were very narrow, which helped make them tighter. Now she was dressedâa borrowed bathrobe and borrowed shoes.
She came downstairs. Jordan still slept on the sofa.
Katie walked to the door and opened it. The rain had stopped again. The sky remained battleship gray, but the wind seemed to be dying down again.
Across the fallen trees in the center of the cul-de-sac, she could see her house very clearly. Suddenly, the urge to see exactly what was inside it was very strong.
She should find Drew Cunningham and tell him where she was going.
She should wake Jordan and tell him.
But when she walked to the sofa, her son was sleeping so peacefully that she didnât want to waken him. And Drew had disappeared somewhere.
And after all, she had agreed to stay here. She hadnât made him her lord and master or anything.
Her child was sleeping on his sofa.
But she was very confident of one thing. Jordan was certainly all right in the manâs house.
She hurried to the door, promising herself that she would take a quick look and come right back.
She started across the street, noting that Drew Cunningham was rightâyou couldnât even drive a car around the cul-de-sac, there were so many trees down.
She walkedâthen climbedâher way across the street and came to her house.
The front door was banging open and shut in what remained of the wind.
She stepped into her living room. The carpeting squished beneath her feetâthere was a good inch of water in it.
Midgeâs shoes were ruined. She made a mental note to replace her neighborâs shoes with a new pair Midge would love.
Then she looked around.
Her furniture was soaked, and bits of plaster lay all about. In the hallway, the whole of the roof was down.
She walked into the living room and threw off one of the curtains that had landed on the edge of the sofa. She inhaled, startled to find one of her camerasâdry, untouched by the water and wind because the drapery had somehow managed to fall and protect it.
She checked quickly. High-speed film, perfect for the gray day. And thirty exposures left.
She started to set the camera down, then slipped the strap over her shoulder. She wasnât leaving this camera nowânot for a second. She wasnât going to take any chances.
At least she could capture something of today.
She turned, anxious, still checking.
If she wanted to capture a piece of Andrew, she could start right here. Her beautiful draperies were sodden, discolored lumps on the floor. Curtain rods hung in disarray. Her chairs were soaked and battered; a large croton bushâdirt and roots includedâhad slammed against her coffee table. Glass was everywhere. The
Chemistry. A certain draw, she told herself firmly. Almost animal instinct.
Thank God she was human, of course. She could feel such things and never act upon them.
Oh, God! But she was losing it.
âKatie,â he said softly. âI would be delightedâno, I insist that you make my home your own. And as Iâve said, Iâll be happy to leave, if you deem it necessary.â
His voice was husky. Low. Masculine. As sensual as his smile.
Yes, leave. One of us needs to, she thought.
She was being an idiot.
âFine,â she said. âWeâll stayâuntil we can leave, of course.â She realized she was still hunched down, gathering up shoes. She was very close to him. She could inhale that very pleasant and subtle scent of man and soap and after-shave.
She stood quickly. âIâll put these upstairs, out of the way,â she told him.
âFine,â he said.
Katie turned and ran up the stairs, opening a closet to dump the shoes.
The closet was empty.
Well, perhaps he didnât have a live-in girlfriend.
Idiot, Katie told herself. If he did have a live-in girlfriend, sheâd probably be living in his room!
She slipped into Midge Hollowayâs loafers and found them a reasonable fitâthe shoes were very narrow, which helped make them tighter. Now she was dressedâa borrowed bathrobe and borrowed shoes.
She came downstairs. Jordan still slept on the sofa.
Katie walked to the door and opened it. The rain had stopped again. The sky remained battleship gray, but the wind seemed to be dying down again.
Across the fallen trees in the center of the cul-de-sac, she could see her house very clearly. Suddenly, the urge to see exactly what was inside it was very strong.
She should find Drew Cunningham and tell him where she was going.
She should wake Jordan and tell him.
But when she walked to the sofa, her son was sleeping so peacefully that she didnât want to waken him. And Drew had disappeared somewhere.
And after all, she had agreed to stay here. She hadnât made him her lord and master or anything.
Her child was sleeping on his sofa.
But she was very confident of one thing. Jordan was certainly all right in the manâs house.
She hurried to the door, promising herself that she would take a quick look and come right back.
She started across the street, noting that Drew Cunningham was rightâyou couldnât even drive a car around the cul-de-sac, there were so many trees down.
She walkedâthen climbedâher way across the street and came to her house.
The front door was banging open and shut in what remained of the wind.
She stepped into her living room. The carpeting squished beneath her feetâthere was a good inch of water in it.
Midgeâs shoes were ruined. She made a mental note to replace her neighborâs shoes with a new pair Midge would love.
Then she looked around.
Her furniture was soaked, and bits of plaster lay all about. In the hallway, the whole of the roof was down.
She walked into the living room and threw off one of the curtains that had landed on the edge of the sofa. She inhaled, startled to find one of her camerasâdry, untouched by the water and wind because the drapery had somehow managed to fall and protect it.
She checked quickly. High-speed film, perfect for the gray day. And thirty exposures left.
She started to set the camera down, then slipped the strap over her shoulder. She wasnât leaving this camera nowânot for a second. She wasnât going to take any chances.
At least she could capture something of today.
She turned, anxious, still checking.
If she wanted to capture a piece of Andrew, she could start right here. Her beautiful draperies were sodden, discolored lumps on the floor. Curtain rods hung in disarray. Her chairs were soaked and battered; a large croton bushâdirt and roots includedâhad slammed against her coffee table. Glass was everywhere. The
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