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  He dried himself swiftly, then hoisted Laura in his arms and carried her, limp and pampered, to his bed.

  His room was furnished simply – a pine chest of drawers and a king-size bed with a pine headboard and a single night table. The walls were white, the curtains and bedspread blue. Everything was neat, orderly, almost impersonal.

  A picture of Sara graced the night table, along with a clock radio and a legal thriller. There was a mirror on one wall and a framed picture of Sara and Jack all dressed up, maybe at somebody's wedding. There was no trace of Cory.

  He slipped under the sheets beside Laura and she snuggled into him even as she said, "This is a very bad idea. We should get back to work."

  "You're right, we should," he said, pulling her on top of him…

  *

  Hunger pangs woke Laura. She opened her eyes, disoriented and confused. She felt the unfamiliar warmth of a solid body snoring gently behind her, and allowed herself a moment just to savor the experience of waking up with the man she loved.

  His arm was draped over her, his hand curled round her breast just as though it belonged there. She glanced at the clock radio. It was after two.

  She allowed herself one more minute, just to be. Memorizing the feel of his breath against her hair, the rhythm of his snoring, each warm point where his body touched her own. Letting herself enjoy the exquisite pleasure of knowing that for this one moment in eternity, Jack was hers.

  "Jack," she said softly, poking his shoulder.

  He muttered and turned over. She allowed herself another moment just to watch him sleeping, filled with such love for this man that her eyes misted. Forcing herself to move, she slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom to retrieve her paint-crusted clothes. Jack's plaid bathrobe was hanging on a hook on the back of the door.

  Bundling her own clothes into a corner, she slipped into his robe. It was soft flannel and smelled of him. She hugged it to her as she padded to the kitchen and began opening cupboards to find the coffee. The intimacy of making coffee in Jack's house, naked but for his bathrobe, had her humming an old love song.

  She carried a steaming mug into Jack's room and shook him awake. "Jack, it's two-thirty. Sara will be home soon."

  That got his attention. He grumbled like a bear coming out of hibernation, but managed to crawl out of bed and pull fresh underwear, a T-shirt and sweats out of the chest of drawers. Laura watched enviously as he pulled on clean, soft clothes.

  "Do you think Sara would suspect anything if I borrowed some clean clothes?" she asked at last.

  He turned an amused gaze on her. "If you mean my bathrobe, then, yeah, I think she might suspect something."

  "Okay." Laura shrugged, pulling the belt off and letting the robe slide to the floor.

  Jack made another of those bear-coming-out-of-hibernation noises and began stalking her. She shrieked and ran round the bed. "Sara's coming."

  "A brief reprieve," he promised, turning back to the open drawers and pulling out another T-shirt, and sweatpants with a drawstring waist. Almost as an afterthought he tossed a pair of cotton briefs her way.

  It was intimate, and surprisingly erotic, to slip into his underwear.

  He watched her with a bemused expression that caused her to drag the outer clothes on fast. Everything was baggy, but the fit wasn't too bad. Even the sweatpants stayed up when Laura pulled the drawstring waist as tight as it would go.

  They were sitting at Jack's kitchen table devouring ham sandwiches when Laura remembered Cory and her list of questions. "How did I do on Cory's list?" she asked with a grin.

  Jack shook his head sadly. "Not well. She thinks you're a nymphomaniac."

  Laura snorted midsandwich. "What do you think?"

  He put a hand on her thigh. "I think it's contagious."

  Laura stopped chewing as the hand rose higher and slipped inside the waistband of the sweats. Maybe she was a nymphomaniac, she thought, as desire bloomed again in her tired body.

  The front door banged and Jack's hand quickly exited her underwear.

  "Hi, honey, how was your day?" he called out.

  "Wow, Dad, you're home." Sara stepped into the kitchen. "Hi, Laura. How come your hair's wet?"

  "Laura had a little accident while she was painting and came here to shower. I lent her some clean clothes." She had to hand it to Jack. He hadn't lied to his daughter, he'd just skipped all the good parts. He didn't look at her, either, which helped keep her blush to a minimum.

  Sara poured a glass of milk and joined them at the table, helping herself to a sandwich. They chatted about her day at school and the progress on the house.

  "Why don't you come and help?" Jack asked her. "Laura's a bit behind today since her accident." The six-foot-two, blue-eyed accident.

  "Aw, Dad, I can't. Jennifer asked me to her house. We have to study for a math test tomorrow. I only came home to write you a note in case you got home early."

  "How about I pick you up at Jennifer's when I finish work, and we'll go for pizza."

  "Great. Can Laura come, too?"

  His eyes smiled at Laura. "Well, can you?"

  She smiled back. "It's a date."

  They dropped Sara off at her friend's and headed back to the McNair House.

  "I'd better see if the paint's dry in the maid's room yet," Laura said, forcing herself not to blush, as they entered the old house.

  "The hell with the maid's room. Why don't you start on the main rooms down here? I've finished all the messy stuff. I'll just be carving for a while."

  She wondered if they'd ever get anything done if they worked within kissing distance of each other. "I don't know…"

  He turned a lascivious gaze on her. "I promise not to ravish you outside of lunch and coffee breaks from now on."

  Laura felt a warm flush spread through her body at the look in his eyes. She'd spent so much energy making sure they worked as far apart as possible. Now the idea of working together seemed so sensible. She nodded in agreement. "Let me show you my ideas for this room."

  She ran out to the van and pulled her design sheets for the entrance hall, parlor and dining room. She had ideas for the remaining rooms on the main floor – the library, morning room and conservatory – but no firm designs yet.

  She spread the sheets out for Jack to see, and he held down the rustling paper with one arm, putting the other arm around Laura's waist. "What is this, red? For the living room?" He pointed at her scrawled notes.

  "Maroon," she corrected. "Very popular in 1886." He looked so horrified Laura couldn't help but smile. "Don't worry, I'm going to flog the walls."

  "Is that how you get them to turn red?" He grinned and her heart flipped.

  "Very funny. It's a brushing technique, softens the color. I'll match the flocked maroon wallpaper I'm using in the dining room."

  She pulled away from his arms, putting distance between them when she saw the grin forming on his face. "What are you thinking?"

  "I'm thinking how much I like you in red."

  At his words, she started reliving what had happened upstairs, in all its glorious details. She looked at Jack sharply, reliving one curious detail.

  "Is something wrong?" he asked.

  "Do you always carry condoms in your jeans?" She blurted it out before she could stop the words.

  Jack looked shocked. "No, of course not."

  She stood watching him warily until he smiled, a tender, rueful smile. He put his hands on her shoulders. "I spent all last night planning how I was going to get you in the sack," he admitted.

  Happiness spurted through Laura. "You spent all night and came up with crumpled paint sheets for a bed?"

  His eyes were twinkling. "Come here."

  He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs. She was mystified until they got to the master bedroom. He pulled her through the doorway and left her standing beside the bed while he crossed the room to a paper sack on the floor. It rustled in the silence as he dug into the bag.

  "It was
your own damned fault for insisting on staying up in the maid's room. Exhibit A." He produced a pair of candles from the bag. "Exhibit B." He waved a bottle of champagne at her. "The ice bucket and ice are in my vehicle, if you care to see them. Exhibit C. Freshly purchased." The box of condoms had ripped cellophane still hanging from it.

  Laura bit her lip. "I'm sorry I spoiled your surprise," she said.

  "You didn't spoil anything," he said, coming over to slip his arms around her. "It was perfect." He looked at the bed. "Not as comfortable as a freshly made featherbed maybe … but perfect."

  Laura leaned into him, inhaling the smell of the laundry soap clinging to his T-shirt, and his own unique musky fragrance. "I'm glad it happened just the way it did. Gran's promised me this bedding for a bridal gift. I'd hate to use it under false pretenses."

  Jack let her go then. "Anytime you feel like champagne, just shout." He sounded cheerful enough, but Laura felt him withdraw from her. She wanted to ask him why, but he'd bounded down the stairs, and was pulling his tools together when she reached the main floor.

  He kept her entertained all afternoon while they worked in the same room. He was great fun as a working companion, but the intimacy they'd shared was somehow diminished.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  «^»

  Coliseum Pizza hadn't changed its decor since Laura was a little girl. The same dusty, framed pictures of crumbling Roman and Greek landmarks still clung to the stucco walls. Which was why the place was still nicknamed the Roman Ruin. But the pizza was as good as she remembered it, she thought, digging her teeth into yet another lusciously thick slice oozing cheese and sauce.

  As ravenously as she ate, she was eating like a bird next to Jack, who chomped down everything in sight. She caught his eye, and he must have read her mind.

  "We worked up quite an appetite today," he said innocently enough, but the silent message was clear – it wasn't work, but erotic play that had them pigging out.

  While they were eating, a group of boys sauntered in, all black baggy clothes and back-to-front baseball caps. They eyed Sara until she blushed.

  "Hey, Sara," one lanky boy said with forced casualness.

  "Hey, Ryan." Jack's daughter blushed deeper still as she returned the greeting.

  Laura caught the look of irritation on Jack's face and smiled to herself. His nightmare days of fathering a teenage dating daughter were just around the corner.

  "Who was that?" he asked, once the boys had left the building.

  "Ryan Bailey," Sara mumbled.

  "The one who spends half his life in the principal's office." Jack lifted his gaze to the grease-spattered ceiling. "Figures."

  Sara rolled her own eyes in a pretty good imitation of her father's disgusted look, and Laura had to choke back a laugh.

  She had a feeling there'd be some interesting times ahead.

  "Guess what, Daddy? Jennifer's family's going to their cabin at Mount Baker for the weekend. They invited me to go along. Can I? Please?"

  "Away for the weekend?" Jack glanced at Laura the same way Ryan Bailey had gazed at Sara. "Sure you can." He seemed to remember his fatherly duty. "If your homework is up to date."

  Sara grinned good-naturedly. "It is, Dad. Jennifer's mom's going to phone you and invite me properly."

  Laura wondered how often he talked to Sara's friends' moms, playing mother as well as father to his daughter.

  Jack reached under the table for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. She didn't have the heart to tell him she would be in Seattle this weekend checking out horsehair furniture.

  When Sara excused herself for the bathroom, Jack turned to Laura. "I am planning to keep you very busy this weekend, Ms. Kinkaide."

  "I have to go to Seattle to a furniture auction this weekend." She bit her lip, feeling the same keen disappointment she saw mirrored on Jack's face. Without thinking, without planning to, she blurted, "Why don't you come with me?"

  The disappointment was gone in an instant. "I'll bring the champagne."

  What was she doing? Laura started panicking. Her apartment was her sanctuary. If Jack invaded that…

  And then she glanced up to find him smiling at her in a way that made her toes curl. If her choice was between a weekend alone and an entire weekend with Jack … well, a couple of days with Jack were worth a rebroken heart and a life of misery.

  No contest.

  *

  Jack arrived for work in conflicting moods of elation and grumpiness.

  "Ja-ack? Can you come up here a minute?" Laura's voice was pitched low, with a suggestion of a waver in the tone. All during his long and very cold shower this morning he'd lectured himself about staying focused on the job today. Hanky-panky in the maid's room, or anywhere else during work hours, was out.

  Which made him wonder why he'd stopped to shove a fresh supply of condoms in his pocket.

  Just the sound of that low, sultry voice sent all his resolutions flying out of his head, to be replaced by images of Laura, all coy and seductive, waiting for him somewhere upstairs.

  As he bolted up the steps, two at a time, visions of what he might find had his libido in overdrive.

  He pictured her stretched out on that big old bed in some teensy, black lace, flimsy thing – he didn't care what it was so long as it was crotchless, because right now he didn't think he had the coordination to remove so much as a pair of panties.

  Or maybe her voice had come from the maid's room. A new image superimposed itself – Laura in a starched maid's uniform, white cap, apron and silk stockings as black as sin. She'd be in some prim pose with a feather duster – and in seconds he'd have her on her back, her apron flipped over her head while he got very creative with that feather duster.

  The stairs echoed beneath his anxious feet as he pounded upward. He paused at the second floor, uncertain whether to go up farther, when he heard his name whispered. It was coming from the bedroom this time.

  Damn straight. She'd better get used to the idea of him as the man in her life, in her bed, under her precious antique linens. Otherwise, he might be forced to use those precious antiques to tie her to that nice, sturdy four-poster, while he tortured her with his mouth and hands and every other part of him, until he had her crying out in ecstasy, begging him to be the man in her bed permanently.

  He was bursting with anticipation when he tore into the bedroom, hot and hard and ready to plunge into those crotchless panties.

  A low, animal growl met his ears and he stopped, just in time, from launching himself onto the bed – on top of an animal that was definitely not Laura.

  At first he thought a stray cat had found its way into the house. Then he looked again. Black eyes gleamed at him from behind a telltale black furry mask.

  "It's a raccoon!" he cried out in surprise.

  "Thank you, Sherlock." Laura stood stock-still on the other side of the bed.

  Jack took a step toward the bed, and the raccoon rose to its hind legs and made a sound between a growl and a hiss.

  Laura gasped and took a step backward.

  He had to admit, he'd seen a lot of raccoons in his time, but this one seemed a little on the ferocious side. It looked like the kind of raccoon that made cats and even small dogs disappear. But it was just a raccoon. Not exactly an exotic creature in the Pacific Northwest.

  From the look of Laura, who was in her usual work garb and nothing lacy or crotchless, she hadn't seen a raccoon in a while. Even he could smell her fear. "I don't know what to do. Every time I move, it waves its claws at me and hisses." She nearly whimpered.

  He decided to punish her, just a little, for the way she'd made him feel yesterday, about not being good enough to share her pristine marriage bed. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

  "Wait!" she squeaked. "You've got to help me."

  "Well, I wouldn't want to be accused of any gender biasing. If it was the electrician, Charlie, cornered by a raccoon, or the roofer, Pete, or Lars, the bricklayer, I guess I'd just
go back downstairs and get to work." Jack took a step back, toward the door.

  The glance she sent him could have melted the North Pole. "Not Charlie, or Pete, or Lars would have done what we did yesterday. And if you ever, ever, want it to happen again, you better do something—"

  Her agitated tone must have freaked the raccoon even more, for it started pacing restlessly, growling low in its throat.

  "—now," she whispered in panic.

  "Okay. Calm down. I wonder how it got in."

  "Who cares? Just make it get out."

  "But all the doors were closed and—"

  "I don't care if it flew in on a spaceship, make it disappear." Laura was starting to sound as agitated as the raccoon, which wasn't having a beneficial effect on the little guy. He looked like he was about to throw the raccoon version of a hissy fit. Which wouldn't be pretty, considering he was sitting in the middle of Laura's bridal bedding.

  "It's just feeling cornered. It's got one of us on either side of it and no escape." Jack spoke in a deliberately slow, soothing voice, hoping to calm at least one of the room's agitated occupants, even if just himself. "I'm going to open the door wide…" He stepped slowly back and pushed the old paneled door all the way open. He made a mental note to put some oil on that squeaking hinge.

  "Now I'm going to run downstairs and open the front door. I'll be right back."

  "Hurry," Laura whispered.

  And he did. He tore downstairs, opened the front door wide and grabbed a broom and shoved on his work gloves. He jogged back up the stairs as quietly as he could and eased himself back into the bedroom, where the scene appeared pretty much the same as before. "Now I'm going to move around the room toward you to give our friend here a clear path out. Here goes."

  He moved against the wall and slowly slid around the room, watched all the way by the raccoon, until he was next to Laura. Jack couldn't resist giving her a reassuring hug around the shoulders, only to have her hug him back fiercely. A rush of protectiveness swamped him. So much for gender bias. If Charlie or Pete ever tried to hug him like that, they'd be eating their teeth for lunch.

  "It's not moving."