Home for Love (3 page)

She wasn't looking forward to working with him. Not at all. Yet he was a puzzle to her. He seemed more the type to choose a luxury town house than a place that needed so much love and care. He certainly looked the image of a successful lawyer.

Kate fingered a corner of the handkerchief trailing out of her pocket. After a moment's hesitation she brought it up to her face and inhaled tentatively.

The handkerchief smelled of pine after-shave, clean, brisk and masculine. Kate took a deep breath.

She opened her eyes wide. What was she doing? She stuffed the handkerchief unceremoniously back into her pocket. Swinging her legs down, she slipped her feet into her pumps where they belonged. She was determined about one thing. Steven Reid or no Steven Reid, this house was going to be the best work of her career.

Soon afterward Kate's assistant, Paula, arrived on the job, her six-foot teenage brother, Max, in tow. The two of them busied themselves with paintbrushes and rollers in the library. Kate watched for a moment, admiring the smooth, meticulous strokes of Paula's brush. As usual Paula was studious about her work. Max's habits were slapdash in comparison, his blond hair falling into his face. But this brother-and-sister team was part of what made Melrose Designs so special. "The personal touch"—that was how Kate advertised, and she stuck by her motto. She herself always looked forward to completing the details of a job. She was an expert at wallpapering difficult corners and varnishing intricate moldings. Being so self-sufficient was an advantage, allowing Kate to make competitive bids against larger decorating firms that hired out all their physical labor.

But business and financial motives played no part in Kate's eagerness to work on Steven's house; the place reached her emotions in a much deeper way. She was going to patch and mend many of its injuries herself, because no one else would care about them as much as she did. Just wait until she started on the wainscoting!

For today, however, other needs of the house called first. Kate left the carpenters and roofers under Paula's supervision and took off to the shops of Union Street.

She poked about happily for hours, looking for the right things to grace Steven's empty rooms. She found two intricate, colorful embroideries for the upstairs hallway, along with baskets in three different sizes for the kitchen. And she doubted that Steven had a wok, so she bought him one of those, too.

Kate's Bug began to overflow with bundles. She managed to rope a chair and a chest of drawers to the roof, but finally ran out of space. Her little car toiled up McClary Hill like an overladen mule just as twilight was drifting down. By now the house was deserted, all the workers gone. Kate savored this solitude, her own special time to be creative. She was her own boss and didn't have to follow someone else's rigid schedule.

The house surrounded her with a lonely but comfortable gloom as she arranged her purchases. A deep sense of contentment grew inside her, a feeling that was the house's unique gift to her. She pushed stray wisps of hair away from her face and phoned out for pizza. Afterward she gravitated to the sun room, carrying the small rattan chair she'd bought at one of her favorite shops, the exotic Malaysian Star. She placed the chair in a corner, then stepped back and smiled. She'd known it would look perfect there. It was her best find of the day.

Kate gazed out the window, a swirl of fog softening the city lights below her. She took a plaster scraper and began the pleasurable task of chipping some hardened dirt away from the frame. The perfect shade of paint for this room would be "adobe rose," no doubt about it. And she'd use blinds instead of curtains. Already she could picture how the sun would look slanting through them.

The front door creaked open forcefully, then banged shut again. Footsteps strode down the hall and they did not sound pleased. A moment later Steven's tall body filled the doorway. Kate stared at him, scraper poised in her hand.

"Oh, no!" she wailed. "You can't be here yet."

"Ms Melrose, you swore to me—"

"Kate."

"You swore I'd have some peace and quiet tonight."

"I know, I know. I did make sure everyone else would be gone. But you said you'd be home late."

"It
is
late."

She squinted at her watch. "Not that late," she murmured hopefully.

"Exactly what is your definition of late?" He pried a sticky newspaper away from his foot.

"Well…not this early. Later than this. Much later. Then it would really be late."

He glared at her and she moved hastily away from the window. "Believe me, this won't happen again," she declared, then tripped over a bucket of rags and landed in Steven's arms.

She caught her breath as she swayed against him. Steven's face was very close to hers, eyes a deep gray under his definite brows. The dark shadow of beard emphasized his clean, healthy skin. His tie was loosed, hanging at a rakish angle. With the top two buttons of his shirt undone, Kate could see a hint of his curling mat of chest hair. She drew away, her breath coming unevenly.

"Are you always this graceful?" he asked, with a glint of humor.

"Believe it or not, I took ballet lessons when I was a little girl. But I had the biggest feet in my class."

"They look fine now," he said. Kate felt his gaze on her maroon pumps. Then he took hold of her hand and examined its small, square shape. He stroked the inside of her wrist, very lightly and very gently, with a slight frown, as if he didn't quite know why he was doing this. Kate's pulse throbbed. She snatched her hand away—or maybe he dropped it abruptly, it was hard to tell.

"I'll be out of here in thirty seconds," she said. "Everything is coming along marvelously, by the way. It's a good, sound house—but of course you knew that. Otherwise you wouldn't have bought it."

"I didn't know a thing about the construction," he said gruffly. "I could have been buying a house made out of cardboard, for all I knew."

Kate stared at him in surprise. "You can't be serious. Why, that's like saying—it's like saying—"

"It's like saying I'm a damned fool. Now we've established that, do you think we can get on with life?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to imply anything. I'll be gone in ten seconds." She popped into the library and picked up her briefcase. Steven followed, leaning in the doorway to watch her. She was uncomfortably aware of her rumpled skirt and dusty blouse. But Steven's gaze swept away from her to the sheet-draped sofa.

"What have you been doing in here?" he asked, yanking the sheet away.

"Painting. Don't you think the color is going to be wonderful?" She gestured at a wall that was almost finished. "And of course we covered the furniture even though it is atrocious. I think you'll be so pleased with the new things I have in mind."

"Ms Melrose!"

"Kate, remember? Of course, I could just keep calling you Mr. Reid if you prefer—"

"I don't care what you call me. Just don't touch this couch."

"You can't be serious!" she protested. "It's outrageous. It'll spoil the whole room. I mean,
look
at it—"

"I like it, Ms Melrose. Kate. It's very comfortable and it's just the right length."

"I can get you a long couch. Extra long. Made to order, even."

"I don't want another couch. I want this one. Do you understand?"

She sighed explosively. "I think we should discuss this later."

"Discussion closed, now and forever."

"All right, all right," she grumbled, eyeing the sofa. She wouldn't mind taking a machete to those cushions.

"I don't think I trust you," Steven said slowly.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's your sofa, your house. The customer… the customer is always right," she muttered.

Steven glanced at her quizzically. Just then the knocker rapped at the front door. "Who the devil can that be?" he asked, rubbing his neck. "There's enough going on here already."

"Uh, well, Steven," Kate said hesitantly. "You see, I didn't expect you back yet and—" the knocker banged again "—I ordered pizza," she wound up. She set down her briefcase and slipped past him to the front door. A moment later she returned, bearing a large box.

"Mushrooms, olives and extra cheese," she announced. "On a whole-wheat crust. Look, just take this as an apology for the fact that I didn't keep my end of the bargain. After today you won't even know I exist."

He glanced around at the half-painted walls and the colorful sheets strewn about. "You don't seem like the type of woman who fades into the woodwork," he said.

"I promise to disappear. Right now." She prodded the box into his hands. "I'll be out of here in five seconds."

"Kate…" He sighed. "Just put two plates on the table, will you? I'll hunt up something to drink."

She led the way into the kitchen, holding the swinging door open for him as he came through with the box.

"Thank you," he said dryly.

"You're welcome." Kate washed her hands and took a long, enjoyable time patting them dry on one of the linen towels she'd bought that day. Then she hunted through the cupboards, where she found only a couple of plastic plates; she'd have to do something about that. Steven uncorked a bottle of wine and located two cheap wineglasses. Kate sat across from him, feet hooked around her chair legs, and tore off a piece of pizza.

"It's good," she said encouragingly. "Don't you think so?"

He read the lid of the box. " 'Penelope's Pizza Parlor.' Is this for real?"

"Of course. It's the best in town, from a little place in North Beach. Very nourishing, too. Don't tell me you've never had any before."

"Whole wheat," he said disparagingly, but a moment later added, "Not too bad."

Kate sat back in triumph. Now and then Steven Reid was almost human. If only she could convince him to get rid of that lumpy sofa, with its dismal brown cushions.

But she'd have to bide her time. After all, she'd dealt before with clients who hung on unreasonably to favorite pieces of furniture. She'd always been able to wean them. She could do the same thing with Steven when the time was right.

She smiled confidently across at him and felt a quiver down her spine when he actually smiled back. He had a full, mobile mouth that was somehow in keeping with the sharp and vigorous planes of his face. She liked the way his hair sprang back from his high, well-molded forehead.

Kate gulped some wine and started coughing. She pushed her glass away. Wine on top of paint fumes could make a person feel heady like this.

"You know, you really ought to improve your diet," she declared. "I mean, all you have in the fridge is stale bread—
white
bread—and some very suspect mayonnaise. Actually, you don't have the mayonnaise anymore. I did you a favor and threw it out."

Steven's slice of pizza froze in the air midway to his mouth. "The inside of my refrigerator doesn't need redecorating."

"Well, of course not. It has to go entirely. I already have ideas for a new model. It's going to take some searching around, but I'll find what I want. Something with rounded edges—old-fashioned, you know, in keeping with the spirit of the house."

Steven chomped down viciously on his pizza. "The fridge stays," he said.