Chapter 65
"All right." Still confused by her sudden change of demeanor, Gideon s.h.i.+fted around the ma.s.sive desk and followed the cord, which, sure enough, dangled to the ground. He found a plug, shoved it in, and pulled the cord. The light glowed.
"Thank you." Her words were fervent, and the expression on her face still appeared drawn.
"Are you all right?" he asked again.
"I'm fine. Fine now. What were you looking at back here?" Indeed, she sounded more like her easy, informal self.
"I just was looking at this desk a bit more closely." He couldn't explain why he was interested in the ugly piece of furniture. It wasn't his style at all. Heavy-featured walnut with tarnished silver pulls and nicks throughout did not turn him on.
But Fiona did.
Gideon stepped away from her abruptly, wondering if she sensed his suddenly raging testosterone. Good Lord, he hadn't felt this randy just standing next to a girl since he was fifteen.
"When I came here last Friday, that same desk caught my attention too. Maybe it's because of where it's situated, here in this little corner, kind of under the stairs." She smiled up at him, and for the first time, he noticed the tiniest little dimple near the corner of her full lips. His mouth went dry. "I found what looks like a storage room back here-the door is locked, but I bet the key is in that mess you gave me the other day. I'm hoping to find a broom in there so I can clean up that porcelain. I just have to go back to the front and get the keys."
Gideon allowed her to pa.s.s by him in that narrow aisle way, and he caught the same spicy scent that seemed to filter in and out of his office since Friday-which was ridiculous. There was no way her perfume still permeated his office. He was imagining things.
He followed her on along the aisle toward the rear of the store. Along the way, the shop morphed from the neatly cluttered arrangement of merchandise into the disorganized array of a back room. There was no door that led to the behind-the-scenes area, nor even any indication that one had left the store and entered a domain available only to the proprietor-but this part of the establishment was clearly not for the eyes of the customer.
Boxes and crates were stacked against the walls and on top of pieces of furniture, most of which were old tables or chests with nicks in them, or broken legs. The lamps were fewer, but he noticed work lights hanging over a long counter that held everything from screwdrivers, nuts, bolts, and hinges to Styrofoam cups, paper towels, papers, and masking tape.
He felt a whisper of movement behind him and turned to find Fiona approaching, a ma.s.s of keys jangling in her hand.
"It's a mess back here, isn't it?" she asked ruefully. "It looks as though Valente just brought new inventory in and left the old stuff, and all of its garbage, back here. I'm sure the fire marshal would have a field day if he or she came in." Shaking her head, she gathered her hair back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, then released the ma.s.s of curls. He watched in fascination as they sprang back into her face, even more out of control than they'd been a moment before. "I certainly have my work cut out for me."
Gideon had to agree. "I hope you're planning on hiring some help," he added.
She had walked over to a door on the side wall and was busily trying, key-by-key, to find the right one. He switched on the work lights, and suddenly the area was lit by glaring fluorescent bulbs.
"Thank you," she said without turning. "Yes, I'm definitely planning on hiring someone to help out-preferably someone who knows something about antiques, since I'm woefully ignorant. I have a friend in mind who might be able to help." Her voice became m.u.f.fled as she bent further over the keyhole. "...because I certainly can't keep the shop closed until I learn enough about my merchandise to be able to sell and buy it, so if you know of anyone who might be interested, send them over."
Finally, she stood upright. "Aha! Got it!"
He watched as she struggled to turn the key in a tarnished lock, and was just about to step forward to help when it pivoted slowly.
With an unladylike grunt that brought a smile to his face, Fiona forced the key until it clicked audibly. "Whew," she murmured. "I'll definitely need to replace that lock if I ever want to get through this door again!" She grasped the doork.n.o.b and struggled with it for a moment.
Gideon glanced down at his favorite Armani suit and the tie Iva'd given him for Christmas, shrugged, and gently elbowed her out of the way. "Why don't you let me try," he suggested. "It's obviously stuck."
Fiona gave him a look that implied she didn't need his help, but stepped out of the way. He turned the stubborn k.n.o.b and pushed against the door. Nothing happened but a slight creak when it heaved within its jamb. Gideon used his shoulder to shove again, and was rewarded with a louder creak, followed by the groan of wood sc.r.a.ping against wood.
"One more time," he muttered, and rammed his body against the stubborn door.
It flew open much too easily, and his momentum was so great that he lost his balance and stumbled through the doorway, landing in an inglorious heap on the floor. Boxes and other unidentifiable items rained down on him, grazing his head and landing in his lap. Dust and dirt swirled everywhere, thrown up by the force of the door opening, and cobwebs attacked his face and hair.
He heard Fiona gasp, and saw her silhouette as she moved to stand in the open doorway, blocking the light, and looking down at him. "Are-are you all-right?" she asked hesitantly, and he realized in a blaze of annoyance that she was struggling to contain a giggle.
Something fell on his head-fortunately, it was a small, empty box, and did nothing but dump more dust into his face-and that did it. She lost it and sagged against the doorway, looking down at him, having lost the battle to control her laughter. Her curls shook with violence, and her eyes glowed with humor.
Gideon clenched his teeth and struggled to pull to his feet just as Fiona reached down to offer a hand unsteady with the giggles wracking her body. He grabbed her slender fingers to steady himself, and in one brilliantly graceful movement that he would forever be thankful for, she lost her balance, knocking into his unstable crouch, and they tumbled back onto the floor of the storage room.
All of a sudden, his arms were full of a soft, malleable, feminine body that quaked with laughter and struggled to right itself. In the light that poured into the room, he was able to see the way humor lit her face, and in an instant his annoyance melted away and he was joining her chuckles.
When he smiled, Fiona's heart stopped and her breath caught, silencing her own giggles. This was the first time she'd seen him do so, and the perpetual annoyance disappeared from his face like a cloud lifting, the sharpness fading away. There was humor in his grey eyes-eyes that no longer looked like angry steel, but like the bluish-grey river-and his full lips became soft and sensual. The smile made all the difference, transforming him into a devastatingly attractive man without the tight collar and stiff professionalism that had been like a wall before.
That smile, that laughter, so casually bestowed, became Fiona's undoing. She suddenly was aware that she was lying on a very attractive, very warm, very masculine specimen of man, and just as quickly, she began to scramble off him.
In her endeavor to escape his disorienting nearness, she must have elbowed him in the abdomen, for she heard the grunt from his gasp for air. Strong arms encircled her, stilling her movements without pressing her closer, and she looked down to find his face mere inches from hers. His muscular thighs stilled under hers, and Fiona felt a shock of heat stab her, then rush up into her face.
"What's the hurry?" he murmured, laughter playing about the corners of his lips. "My suit's already ruined."
Fiona gathered her wits. "But there's still hope for my dress," she replied with what she hoped was a casual grin. She placed her hands on his chest to push herself away, and felt the solid slabs of warm, firm muscle flex under the layer of coat and s.h.i.+rt as his arms tightened around her waist. Wow. Who'd have thought that Armani suit contained such a buff guy?
Time suspended for a moment as their gazes locked in the inches that separated them. She was so close she could see the light coat of dust on his nose, and the hint of dark whiskers on his cheeks and jaw. His arms cradled her, balancing her on top of his long, solid
Something changed when his gaze drifted from hers, dropping to her slightly parted lips, and Fiona felt another hot wash of desire flood her. As she caught her breath, he lifted his head and brought her face to his, fitting their lips together in a gentle, tentative kiss.
He tasted of dust-moist, hot dust-and smelled of some subtle male scent that wrapped around her just as his arms did. His lips caressed and coaxed hers, opening them to explore within, and drawing her upper, then her lower, lip into his mouth to taste them. He s.h.i.+fted under her, a rumbling sigh escaping from the depths of his throat, and pulled her closer to his chest as his mouth continued to explore hers.
Fiona was just bringing her hand to touch his thick, dark hair when, in the very faintest corner of her consciousness, she heard the tinkle of a bell and the call of a voice from the front of the store. Jerking away from Gideon, she rolled off his body and banged into the leg of a piece of furniture as she pulled herself to her feet. "Someone's here!"
Stumbling to her feet, she brushed frantically at her skirt and blouse as she stumbled out of the storage room, leaving Gideon behind to struggle to his own feet.
CHAPTER FOUR.
Gideon's veins hummed and his breathing felt like the rasp of iron over wood, rough and unsteady. He pulled himself upright and looked down at his once flawless suit. If it wasn't completely ruined, it would certainly take some extra effort at the dry cleaner to get it back into shape.
Jesus. He looked at his hand and saw that his fingers were trembling. His breathing was slowing to normal, but his heart rate and the heaviness between his legs still indicated how aroused he was. He took a deep breath and held it, but his body still hummed.
When he dragged a hand through his hair, more dust floated down to land on his dark suit and shoes. He took a few more moments to brush off and try to regain some dignity before joining Fiona and her customer.
Customer? Didn't the sign say the store was closed?
Disregarding the fact that he had ignored the sign himself, Gideon hurried out to the front of the shop, straightening his tie as he went.
When he reached the open area of the store, he found Fiona casually chatting with a well-dressed man who stood much too close to her. Gideon was not pleased to recognize Barnaby Forth.
"h.e.l.lo, Gideon," Fiona greeted him as if he'd just run out for milk. "Nevio Valente's grand-nephew stopped by to introduce himself to me. He ignored the sign too." She shared a brilliant smile between the two of them, taking any real sting out of her words.
Gideon crossed his arms over his chest to hide as much as he could of the rumpled suit and offered a polite smile to the other man, who had the grace to look embarra.s.sed at Fiona's teasing comment. "Good to see you again, Forth. Nice of you to stop by."
"I wanted to see how Miss Murphy was doing here at Uncle Nevio's shop. I haven't been here for awhile, but I thought I'd stop by and see if there was anything I could do to help."
When Forth smiled warmly at Fiona, Gideon was reminded that the young man was running for state senator in Philadelphia County. This had to be a ploy for votes. Forth was likely hoping to turn up a nice little feature in the Inquirer about the quaint little shop and the mysterious woman who'd inherited it...accompanied, of course, by a spread about the grand-nephew of the old man who'd left it to her. Smart and savvy. And annoying as h.e.l.l.
"Of course, my schedule is extremely tight-especially with the campaign gearing up for the fall," Forth continued, shooting a quick look at Fiona as if to make certain she heard his comment.
Gideon stifled a snort when Fiona ingenuously took the bait and asked, "Campaign?"
How could she look so unruffled after their pa.s.sionate exchange? His irritation grew when Forth modestly smoothed a hand over his thick head of hair-with not a receding hairline or grey strand in sight.
"I'm running for State Senator." He went on to give her what must have been a practiced spiel about what he would do for his district, and why it was important for him to be elected and so on. Gideon had heard it all before.
Fiona crossed her arms over her middle, c.o.c.king her head to appraise him. "So that's why your name was a little familiar to me."
"A little familiar?" Forth gave a short, embarra.s.sed chuckle. "I guess I'll have to speak with my campaign manager if it's only a little familiar to you." He pulled at the sleeve of his suit jacket to straighten it, and Gideon resisted the urge to glance down at his own rumpled suit. "I'll stop by if my mother remembers anything about Gretchen," Forth said to Fiona, after a quick glance at Gideon.
Interest flared in her eyes, then that brow rose again. "There is such a thing as a telephone," she said matter-of-factly, splitting her glance between the two of them. "You don't have to come all the way over here again if you find out anything-especially if you're so busy."
Gideon smothered a smile as Forth's face showed that her gentle gibe had found its mark, then the aggravation returned. Why had Barnaby Forth made a point of coming all the way down to South Street when he was so d.a.m.n busy? "Who's Gretchen?" he asked.
They both looked at him, but Fiona explained. "Valente mentioned someone named Gretchen in that letter he left for me, and I was wondering who it is. Barnaby said he'd check with his mother, but apparently she doesn't remember anyone by that name. And no one else in the family seems to know-unless you do?"
Wondering why she had asked Barnaby for help but not him, and curious about the letter, Gideon took a moment to reply. "I don't recall the name showing up anywhere in the paperwork I've handled. But I'll be happy to double-check it for you." He wanted to know more, but decided not to pursue the matter at this point. Perhaps after Forth left, Fiona would let him read the letter.
There was another short silence, and just as Fiona started to speak, there was a knock at the front door of the shop. She looked over in surprise, then at the two men, and muttered, "So much for the sign. Either of you know anything about antiques?" With a bright smile, she went to the door and opened it. "May I help you?"
Gideon didn't hear the reply, but when Fiona stepped back to allow the customer entrance to the shop, he saw an angular young woman dressed in black with bleached, spiked hair and approximately a dozen rings and studs pierced through various places on her body. She was carrying a struggling cat, and as she stepped inside the door, the feline won the battle with a fierce swipe of a paw and was out of her arms, streaking across the floor.
The woman gasped in pain and clutched her arm as the others watched the white and grey cat dive under a low chest of drawers, disappearing from sight.
"Are you all right?" Fiona asked the stranger, who was holding an arm that had four bright red lines on it.
She gave a rueful laugh and rubbed her arm. "That's what I get for being neighborly, I guess! I'm fine-it's not the first time Gretchen's showed her true feelings about me."
Fiona stopped what she was about to say and stared at the woman. "Gretchen?"
"That's her name. She's the shop cat, as I was trying to explain before she gouged me."
Gideon stepped in. "How did you come to have her, Miss-uh-?"
"Betsey. Betsey Gregor. I run the boutique next door, Glad's Rags-sorry I didn't get a chance to introduce myself, but-well-you know," she waved her pale arm with the scratch marks on it. "When I heard Mr. Valente died, I came over and got Gretchen for the time being. I guess one of you is the new owner?"
"I am," Fiona replied.
"How did you get into the shop?" asked Gideon.
"I had a key. I used to take care of Gretchen when he'd go out of town, because I'm here all the time." She dug in the pocket of her loose black dress and produced a gold key, which she gave to Fiona. "Here it is. If you need anyone to cat-sit for you, just let me know. Gretchen doesn't much like strangers, but she's used to me-at least, as used to me as she is to anyone. Well, gotta run back next door-I'm the only one here today. If you need anything, holler." And with that, she was gone in a flurry of black and jingling earrings.
"Well, the mystery of Gretchen is solved," Fiona murmured, stooping to look under the chest of drawers where the cat had vanished.
Gideon heard a fierce hiss, but Fiona didn't back away. "Come here, kitty," she crooned. She hunkered onto her elbows, heedless of the fact that her very attractive rear-end lifted enticingly, and practically rested her cheek on the floor in her efforts to look under the chest. Her thick, auburn hair spilled over her shoulders and onto the dusty floorboards, and she pushed it out of her face with the palm of her hand. "Come on, Gretchen, honey," she called.
Gideon felt foolish standing there, watching her crouch on the floor, and he flickered his gaze at the silent Barnaby Forth. He was annoyed that the other man seemed to have just as much interest in the view of her tight derriere. The fact that Gideon was the one who'd had his hands on it only a short time ago mollified him only slightly.
Yet it was ridiculous to consider the possibility of Fiona and Barnaby together-they were even less-suited for each other than he and Fiona would be. The conservative politician would never make it in the polls with a flighty, ditzy, free spirit like Fiona on his arm.
"Well," Fiona said finally, scrambling to her feet. "I guess Gretchen's not coming out."
She brushed off her skirt and used two hands to scoop up the ma.s.s of hair off of her face and neck. Absently, she let it spill from her hands, and the thick curls cascaded down around her face and neck.
Gideon felt the heat rise in him as he noticed the way her light sweater fit to her curves when her arms were raised.
Then she dropped her arms, letting her hands fall to her sides. "Maybe I'll be able to bribe her with some cat food-I wonder what kind she eats. I've got to run out for some lunch myself-either of you want to join me?"
Gideon had a hearing, and knew he had to decline. He was thus annoyed when Barnaby Forth replied with enthusiasm that he would love to join her.
So much for getting to read that mysterious letter. Then, he realized the time, looking at his watch in dismay. "I need to run." How was he going to get home and change his suit before court in thirty minutes? But, still, he hesitated to leave without being able to talk to Fiona privately-after all, that had been one h.e.l.l of a kiss, and he wanted to know where they were going to go from there.
"Thanks for stopping by," Fiona said with a warm smile. He looked for another message in her eyes-something that indicated she wanted to speak with him also-but there was nothing but the same warm amber sparkle there. "I really appreciate you returning that compact."
Gideon shook Forth's hand and reluctantly took his leave, hurrying to make his appointment.
It was after three when Fiona returned to the shop. She struggled through the front door, lugging a ten-pound bag of cat food, another bag which contained a catnip-scented mouse, a ball with a jingly bell inside, a collar, kitty snacks, and a ten-pound bag of kitty litter.
She dumped her packages on the floor and closed the front door behind her. When she turned back around, she started when she noticed Gretchen sitting on the floor in the center of the shop, regarding her with cool greenish-grey eyes. The very tip of her tail twitched slightly, curling and uncurling like a little finger as Gretchen leveled her an accusing look.
Fiona gave a little laugh. "Well, I'm sorry it took so long to get back with your food," she explained, planting her hands on her hips. "Barnaby wanted to eat at Munch's, and it was a long wait for a table."
Gretchen continued to look at her accusingly, and Fiona shrugged. "Yes, it's Barnaby, not Mr. Forth, and no, I was not ignoring the fact that you were waiting for your food." She opened the bag and pulled out the pouch of kitty treats. "But look what I brought you to make up for the wait," she added in an enthusiastic, sing-song voice. When she held one of the tiny, moist triangles toward Gretchen, the feline deigned to sniff delicately in its general direction, but made no attempt to move.
Fiona raised her eyebrow and placed the treat just out of range of the cat's paw. "Well, then, my dear, whenever you feel up to it, you can help yourself." She pulled to her feet, and, gathering up the bags, started back to the rear of the shop.
The silence of the place suddenly yawned over her. We need some music in here. Maybe some Celtic instrumentals-harps and flutes and such.
She pa.s.sed the heavy desk in the center of the room, glancing at the slim telephone and answering machine that seemed so out of place amid the aged items that filled the store. The message light wasn't blinking, so she hurried on past, back toward the rear of the shop where the ceiling was only eight feet above the ground. She pa.s.sed the staircase and, glancing up into its darkness, shrugged off the nervousness that threatened to creep back over her neck. The bags made thumping and crinkling sounds as she toted them on down the aisle, and the smaller bag that dangled from her wrist almost knocked a small kerosene lantern off a table.
Fiona stopped at the large oaken desk to adjust her load, and noticed that the shade was askew on The Lamp.
She'd come to think of that short, squat, center lamp as The Lamp since that odd happening last Friday. When Gideon had reached to turn it on, she'd felt the rush of cool air brus.h.i.+ng over her cheek...then it disintegrated, leaving the dust motes wafting gently to the floor as Gideon plugged in the lamp and switched it on-as if it were just another light.
Now, the shade had been knocked askew. Gretchen, she thought, sending a wry glance toward the front. As she fixed the shade and turned back, she noticed the shards of porcelain from her accident three days earlier still scattered on the floor. I've got to find a broom or Gretchen's going to cut her paw on that.
She continued toward the back, determined to take care of the mess without getting distracted this time, but then she pa.s.sed by the open doorway into the small room filled with boxes and was a.s.sailed by the memory of Gideon sprawled there on the floor in his dark, proper designer suit. She wanted to giggle at the remembrance, but instead, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to still her suddenly-racing heart.
What a kiss.
A s.h.i.+ver that had nothing to do with chill snaked down her spine, coiling into her middle as sweat sprang to her palms. She did smile-a dreamy one-and brushed her fingertips over her lips. It had been a long time since she'd been kissed like that. So long that she couldn't even remember being kissed like that.