Unfinished Business by Nora Roberts Page B

down at her elegant Italian flats. “Here.” He hoisted her up and over the rubble. She felt the bunching of his arm muscles, he the firm length of her legs.
    â€œYou don’t have to—” He set her down, hastily, in front of a pair of atrium doors. “Still Mr. Smooth, aren’t you?”
    â€œYou bet.”
    Inside there was subflooring and drywall. She saw power tools, sawhorses and piles of lumber. A huge stone fireplace was already built into the north wall. Temporary stairs led to the second level. The scent of sawdust was everywhere.
    â€œThe living room,” he explained. “I wanted plenty of light. The kitchen’s over there.”
    He indicated a generous space that curved off the main room. There was a bay window over the sink that looked out into the woods. A stove and refrigerator were nestled between unfinished counters.
    â€œWe’ll have an archway to keep in tune with the windows,” he went on. “Then another will lead around to the dining room.”
    She looked up at the sky through a trio of skylights. “It seems very ambitious.”
    â€œI only intend to do it once.” Taking her hand again, he led her around the first floor. “Powder room. Your mother found me this great pedestal sink. The porcelain’s in perfect shape. And this is a kind of a den, I guess. Stereo equipment, books.” When he narrowed his eyes, he could see the finished product perfectly. And oddly, so could she. “Do you remember Josh McKenna?”
    â€œYes. He was your partner in crime.”
    â€œNow he’s a partner in a construction firm. He’s doing all these built-ins himself.”
    â€œJosh?” She ran a hand over a shelf. The workmanship was beautiful.
    â€œHe designed the kitchen cabinets, too. They’re going to be something. Let’s go up. The stairs are narrow, but they’re sturdy.”
    Despite his assurances, she kept one hand pressed against the wall as they climbed. There were more skylights, more arches. The eyebrow windows, as he called them, would go over the bed in the master suite, which included an oversize bathroom with a tiled sunken tub. Though there were a mattress and a dresser in the bedroom, the bath was the only finished room. Vanessa stepped off subflooring onto ceramic.
    He’d chosen cool pastels with an occasional vivid slash of navy. The huge tub was encircled by a tiled ledge that sat flush against another trio of windows. Vanessa imagined soaking there with a view of the screening woods.
    â€œYou’ve pulled out all the stops,” she commented.
    â€œWhen I decided to move back, I decided to do it right.” They continued down the hall, between the studded walls. “There are two more bedrooms on this floor, and another bath. I’m going to use glass brick in that one. The deck will run all around, then drop down to the second level on the west side for sunset.” He took her up another flight of splattered steps into the gable. “I’m thinking about putting my office up here.”
    It was like a fairy tale, Vanessa thought, circular in shape, with more arching windows. Everywhere you stood there was a lofty view of the woods and the mountains beyond.
    â€œI could live right here,” she said, “and feel like Rapunzel.”
    â€œYour hair’s the wrong color.” He lifted a handful. “I’m glad you never cut it. I used to dream about this hair.” His gazeshifted to hers. “About you. For years after you left, I used to dream about you. I could never figure it out.”
    She turned away quickly and walked to one of the windows. “When do you think you’ll have it finished?”
    â€œWe’re shooting for September.” He frowned at her back. He hadn’t thought of her when he’d designed the house, when he’d chosen the wood, the tiles, the colors. Why was it that now that she was here it was as if the