glare broadened to a thunderous glower. “You trying to test my restraint?”
She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Wouldn’t think of it. Anybody can see you’re a paragon of willpower and self-control. Cool. Real laid-back.”
“All right, all right. You and I both know what’s going on here. If these verbal whacks are helping to relieve your frustration, by all means don’t spare me.”
Apparently less assured now, she avoided looking him in the eye for the first time. “You’re assuming a lot, Mr. Harrington.”
“Don’t fool yourself.” He poured half a glass of club soda, dropped two cubes of ice in it, offered the glass to her and, when she declined, sipped it slowly. “Let’s get back to business. I was not expecting you to come with a child. You told me you were divorced, and I got the impression you were much older.”
“If you’d asked my age, I would have told you. You didn’t.”
“I know, I know. But I always heard that women don’t like to tell their age.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you there.” Suddenly her demeanor seemed to change. Lord forbid she should try some feminine tactics on him. He wasn’t holding still for that.
But she fooled him. “Telford, let’s see this from my point of view. I sublet my house, packed some necessities, stored the remainder of my belongings, got in my car and changed my life by coming here. Where do I go if I leave here, and what will I do with Tara while I find another job and a place to stay? That’s my dilemma, but if you don’t want my child here, I don’t want to stay, and I won’t.”
“I’m not asking you to leave. What do you think I am, an ogre of some kind?”
“She’s obedient, and she’s smart. You’ll see.”
And she was a beautiful, loving child who would soon have him and every other man around rolling over whenever she snapped her fingers. He looked at the hopeful expression in Alexis’s soft brown eyes. Hopeful, but not pleading. What had he thought he’d gain by giving her the third degree? Except perhaps to establish some vital distance between them. They’d hooked the minute they looked at each other on those stairs. She could deny it if she wanted to, but he’d felt it to the marrow of his bones, and he’d bet anything, even his varsity ring, that it was the same for her.
The present arrangement wouldn’t work; he didn’t want Tara running around in the corridors near their bedrooms. “Tomorrow, I’d like you to move over to that guest room off the garden. It’s private and safe, and it’s much more spacious. No one can scale that wall without spending a few weeks in a hospital. Furthermore, Tara will be less likely to grow up too fast. Henry will show you to that room.”
“Thanks. When you have time, please tell me how you like things done.”
He looked at her to see if she might be pulling his leg, and realized that she was serious. In spite of himself, he laughed aloud. “Why would I bother to do that? You’ll do what you like. Sleep well.”
For some reason, he didn’t want to see her walk out of the door, so he went over to the window and busied himself closing first the blinds and then the draperies. He heard her say good-night, but he pushed from his mind the soft caress that was her voice.
He went back to the bar, poured himself another glass of club soda and sipped it, mostly to have something to do. When he’d looked up those stairs and seen her looking down at him, he thought a barrel of bricks had fallen on his head. And as she glided toward him, her motion slow and fluid as if something other than her feet propelled her, a sweet, terrible hunger that he hadn’t experienced in his thirty-six years began to churn in him. She stopped just in time, bringing him to his senses seconds before he would have reached out for her.
He brushed his fingers over his curly hair, exasperated at the thought of having that woman in his home for the next two years. He’d had enough of women, beautiful and otherwise. First his unfaithful mother, and then… He pushed the thought from his mind.
“Well, does she stay?”
He spun around at the sound of Drake’s voice. “She stays. What else can I do? She has to work, and she has a child. I—”
“That’s a great little girl, too. Don’t sweat it, Telford. We’re in the doldrums; been in ’em for years. I liked sitting at a properly set table. Hell, half the time, Henry serves the food right from the pot so he can wash one less dish.”
“I know, but it’s… Well—”
Drake’s hand clasped his right shoulder. “Don’t let it get to you. You’ll either like it or it won’t amount to a thing. Trust me; I’ve been there.”
He looked at his brother, the person closest to him, and shook his head. For all Drake’s apparent frivolousness, his insight into human feelings and behavior could be startlingly clear, so he didn’t try to mislead him. “Right. It may take me a few days, but I’ll get it together.”
“I may be a little late for breakfast tomorrow morning, Tel,” Henry called from the door. “I don’t suppose that matters, though, since it’s Saturday. But I thought I’d run down to Bridge Market and get some of that good double-smoked bacon. We ain’t got nothing here but country sausage.”
“Isn’t that what we always eat for breakfast?”
“Yeah, but Tara told me she likes pancakes with bacon and maple syrup. We got the syrup, but we ain’t got—”
Telford held up his hands, palms out. “All right, all right. Get the bacon. Anything else she wants. I hope I get my breakfast before I have to leave for Baltimore.”
“Do my best.”
Do his best. “Henry knows breakfast is my favorite meal. I have to change my suppertime, eat in the breakfast room, walk around in the house fully clothed with dust flying around in my face, wait till you get home before I can eat and I’ll probably have to give up sausage and eat bacon with my grits?” He threw up his hands.
“Don’t look at me,” Drake said, his white teeth sparkling against his olive complexion. “And quit complaining. Just think of the fun you’re probably going to have.”
“Man, you’re wasting your thought process. I’m not going that way.”
“If you say so. A first-class woman is in the house.”
Drake raced back upstairs, and his thoughts turned inward. If only he were as sure as he’d sounded.
Chapter 2
Alexis crawled into bed long after midnight, having survived a day in which she’d turned her life around, hurtling from society matron to live-in housekeeper, from college teacher to a woman with limited means of earning a living. At nine o’clock yesterday morning, the judge had banged his gavel and finally closed her custody case for all time, thwarting Jack Stevenson’s last effort to take their child from her. Jack had badgered and threatened her until she relinquished her share of their joint property in exchange for Tara’s custody. A month later, supported by his enormous wealth and high-priced lawyers, he challenged her fitness as a mother, as if to break her spirit by depriving her of her only remaining treasure. All of her savings had gone to lawyers’ fees, but she had her child, and that was all that mattered.
She leaned over the sleeping little girl—conscious that they were sharing a bed for the first time—and closed her eyes in gratitude. Tara was hers, and the future was bright, or would be if… She bolted upright and tremors streaked down her limbs as she recalled Telford Harrington and her reaction to him. She still felt the shock of seeing the man for the first time, of looking into hazel-brown eyes that mesmerized her, of having the stuffing knocked out of her. When she’d finally gotten back in her room, her fingers shook so badly that she could hardly remove her shoes. She didn’t know how she’d do it, but she’d deal with it. She had to; her life and that of her child depended on it. She