‘‘No, thanks.’’ He set the large cup back onto the rug. ‘‘Tried the husband thing. It didn’t work. Besides, I’m not father material.’’
‘‘There’s that sunshiny outlook on life I’ve come to know so well,’’ Eileen said.
‘‘Touché.’’ His turn to incline his head and acknowledge her point. Then he asked, ‘‘What about you?’’
‘‘What about me?’’
‘‘You involved with anyone?’’ And why do you care? Rick asked himself. The answer was, he didn’t. Not really. It was just a polite inquiry. Didn’t matter to him one way or the other.
She sat up, dusted her palms together and gathered up her trash, stuffing it into the white paper bag. ‘‘Not lately.’’
Good, he thought even though he knew it would have been better if she were engaged. Married. Hell. A nun. ‘‘Hard to believe.’’
‘‘Why?’’ She looked up at him.
He shrugged. ‘‘It’s just…’’ He waved a hand at her. ‘‘I mean…’’
She smiled. ‘‘Are you about to give me a compliment?’’
Frowning, Rick crumpled up the last of his trash and snatched the bag from her hand to stuff his trash inside. ‘‘Stranger things have happened.’’
‘‘In science fiction movies.’’
‘‘You’re not an easy person, are you, Eyeball?’’
She tossed a wadded-up taco wrapper at him, bouncing it off his forehead. ‘‘Gran always said nothing good ever comes easy.’’
‘‘Yeah, but who knew she was talking about you?’’
Silence dropped between them. Outside the windows, the sun was setting and the low-lying clouds were shaded a deep purple and crimson. And inside, the silence kept growing, until it was a living, breathing presence in the room.
Rick stared at her and caught himself wondering what she would taste like. And he wondered if he’d be willing to stop at just one taste. That couldn’t happen though. He wouldn’t get involved with Eileen Ryan. Beyond the fact that she aroused too much emotion within him—there was the whole business of her being the granddaughter of his grandmother’s best friend.
She wasn’t the woman for a no-strings affair. She was hearth and home and family dinners. Definitely, she was hands off. There might as well have been a sign reading Keep Away tacked to her forehead.
If he was smart, he’d pay attention.
‘‘We’d better finish up that contract stuff,’’ she said, her gaze locked with his.
‘‘Right.’’ Rick nodded and pulled in a deep breath. ‘‘Otherwise, we could be here all night.’’
‘‘Probably not a good idea,’’ Eileen said softly, and licked her lips.
‘‘Yeah,’’ he said, wincing as his body tightened. ‘‘Not a good idea at all.’’
By Thursday evening, Eileen was regretting ever agreeing to this situation. She felt as if she was tightrope walking over a pit filled with hungry lions. One wrong step and she was nothing more than a quick meal.
What she needed was the weekend. Time to spend down at the beach, in her own cottage. Painting the china hutch she’d picked up at the flea market last month. Or stenciling the kitchen walls. Heaven knows, she’d been putting that off for months. There’d never been enough time to get around to all of the crafty things she liked to do. She was always too busy at the shop.
Which was why she’d been looking forward to these two weeks. With Paula, her new manager, in charge at Larkspur, Eileen could relax about the shop. It was in good hands.
Her full vacation was already shot, so she planned to make good use of at least the weekends. She’d have some breathing room. She needed to get herself far, far away from Rick Hawkins. She needed to keep busy enough that maybe she’d stop daydreaming about what she’d like to be doing with Rick. Eileen groaned quietly. All she had to do was get through today and tomorrow, and she’d have two whole days to decompress.
‘‘Eileen?’’
‘‘Yessir, boss?’’ She turned her head to watch him come through the doorway from his office.
He frowned and looked at her as she stood up, holding onto her purse and car keys as if they were life rings tossed into a churning sea. ‘‘You leaving already?’’
‘‘It’s not ‘already,’’’ she said, scooping her black cardigan off the back of her chair. ‘‘It’s after five and I’m going home.’’ She was actually running home, but didn’t feel the urge to tell him that. Back to her empty little cottage where she wouldn’t have to look into Rick’s brown eyes. Where she wouldn’t have to remind herself that she wasn’t interested in getting involved with anyone again, much less the bane of her childhood.
Slipping into her sweater, she flipped her hair out from under it, then pointed at a manila folder on her desk. ‘‘The last letters you wanted are right there. Sign them and they’ll go out in tomorrow morning’s mail.’’
‘‘Fine, but—’’
‘‘See you later.’’
‘‘Eileen.’’
His voice stopped her just three feet from the door. She gave that magic portal one longing glance, then took a deep breath and turned to face him. His hair was mussed, his tie loose and his collar opened. He looked far too good. If he suggested ordering dinner in and working late again, she’d have to say yes. She’d spend the whole meal drooling over him and then go home to be frustrated alone. But if he didn’t ask her to stay late and have dinner, she’d be disappointed because then she wouldn’t get a chance to drool over him. Oh yeah. No psychological problems here. ‘‘What?’’ She snapped out the word a little harsher than she’d planned.
‘‘You free this weekend?’’
Whoa. She reeled a little. Was he asking her what she thought he might be asking her? Not just fast-food dinner and work, but maybe a date? Maybe a movie or something else that was totally inappropriate considering they were working together? Considering their grandmothers had arranged all of this? Considering that she wasn’t in the mood for a man in her life? Ye gods. Her stomach skittered nervously. ‘‘Why?’’
‘‘I’ve got some meetings.’’
Okay, no date. Work.
‘‘Now that’s a shame,’’ she said, and sidled closer to the door.
‘‘I’ll need a secretary.’’
No way. She’d already lost two perfectly good weeks of vacation. She wasn’t about to give up her weekends, too. ‘‘Rick…’’
‘‘One meeting’s scheduled for late tomorrow morning, then all day Saturday. Maybe one Sunday morning.’’
‘‘But I don’t—’’
‘‘You’ll be paid overtime.’’
Her fingers curled around her purse strap. ‘‘That’s not the point.’’
‘‘What is?’’ he asked, folding his arms across a chest that she’d spent far too much time imagining bare. ‘‘Too scared to go away with me?’’
She laughed shortly, harshly and hoped it sounded convincing. ‘‘Yeah. That must be it—go away? Go away where?’’
‘‘Temecula.’’
‘‘In Riverside county?’’
‘‘Is