Читать книгу The Marine And Me - Cathie Linz - Страница 11

Steve blinked and looked again. Maybe he’d just imagined Chloe.…

Nope, there she was. Her dark hair was down around her shoulders instead of tightly pinned up. The silky strands fell around her shoulders in sexy disarray.

And there was no mistaking her long shapely legs. Steve had excellent night vision and he could see just fine how great her body really was. This was no frumpy librarian!

She’d deliberately made him think she was a stereotypical dowdy bookworm. Why? What kind of con was she pulling here?

His internal lie-detector system went on high alert. Steve hated being deceived. Especially by a female. Chalk it up to his bad experience with Gina. The memory of how she’d hoodwinked him still made his gut clench.

Steve couldn’t believe he’d been had by another female. He’d sworn not to be taken in again, yet here he was, in the dark about the girl next door. The supposedly sweet neighbor who had given him a hard time tonight with her superior intellectual attitude.

If she’d been trying to get his attention, she had it.

But that was just it. She hadn’t tried to get his attention. It was almost as if she’d gone out of her way to make him overlook her.

The same question arose again. Why?

Steve was tempted to go over there and demand answers, but it was after midnight. Not exactly the time to go knocking on someone’s door.

That was okay. Steve could wait. He’d done plenty of that in combat. Sometimes a mission required patient surveillance in order to get good intel.

Yes, sometimes waiting worked out just fine. It made the ultimate confrontation all the more satisfying.

Switching on the coffeemaker Saturday morning, Chloe’s gaze lifted to the vintage hand-painted wooden sign she’d put over the sink. Home * Sweet * Home.

Chloe loved her brick bungalow. Not a day went by that she didn’t thank the Realtor gods for her good fortune in finding it. The instant she’d spotted the For Sale sign planted in the scrubby lawn, she’d immediately called the number listed. Once inside, she’d been won over by the generous rooms and abundance of natural light. She’d envisioned the possibilities instead of being turned off by the negatives, like the dated kitchen in garish green and maroon.

Nothing, not the chipped molding, scarred hardwood floors or the other blemishes around the house had deterred her. Those were cosmetic things that could be corrected by someone with the ability to look beyond the dull surface to the sound heart beneath it all.

In the thirties, these homes were the dream houses of working-class Polish, Bohemian, German, Irish and Italian families. Now this one was Chloe’s dream house.

Some might find the architecture unappealing. She’d heard plenty of people say that the bungalows in this neighborhood all looked the same.

Chloe found comfort in the dependability of that sameness. Because you knew what you were getting.

But what you did with it, ah…that’s where the creativity came in.

Chloe had done plenty with her bungalow. Not as much as she’d like, but she’d made some inroads on her to-do list in the three years since she’d bought it. And she’d done her research with the help of the Historic Chicago Bungalow Initiative. Thousands and thousands of the one and one-half story residences had been built in a semicircle around the city, sometimes called the “Bungalow Belt.”

Compact in size, well-crafted, efficiently laid out, the house had only needed a bit of rehabbing. Okay, maybe more than a bit. She’d replaced the cracked linoleum floor in the kitchen with black-and-white tile before moving on to the rest of the house, going from the back of the house toward the front, through the dining room and then the living room.

She hadn’t done it alone. Lynn’s husband was a handyman and he’d done a great job working on Chloe’s house. She’d done a lot of the work herself as well, like stripping the avocado-green paint from the Arts and Crafts-style glass-fronted cabinets in the living room and restoring the natural wood.

Ditto for the built-in china cabinet in the dining room. The floral-patterned Staffordshire set she’d picked up at a garage sale for ten dollars looked perfectly at home on the cabinet shelves. She paused to straighten the large serving dish next to a delicate teacup and saucer.

Chloe loved order. No doubt that was a result of the emotionally chaotic circumstances of her childhood. Janis had made it clear to the eight-year-old Chloe that she wasn’t to mess up anything—Janis’s schedule, her austere condo, her plans.

That wasn’t the kind of order that Chloe wanted. She liked the kind that was warm and welcoming, but had a place for everything. Because that kept things from getting out of control. And Chloe had learned early on not to rock the boat, to fly under the radar and not to get wild or out of control.

Thinking about wild naturally led her thoughts to Steve and her reaction to his simplest touch last night. Racing hearts were not in her plans. She’d taken a chance with Brad and look how that had ended up. Not good.

No, it didn’t pay to depend on others for your happiness. A house was a much more reliable thing.

Her thoughts returned to her bungalow. The living room and dining room were completed but now she had to focus on the kitchen. She’d downloaded information from the Internet about proper restoration, replacing fixtures that didn’t match the period or design of the house was a no-no. Someone at work had told her that one of the home-improvement stores had a big sale coming up, so Chloe was eager to check the sale flyers in her Saturday newspaper.

Chloe was thinking about kitchen faucets when she opened her front door to grab her newspaper, as she did every Saturday morning. In some places the newspaper was dropped at the sidewalk near the street, but here it was still delivered to the front porch.

Since she was only wearing her Chicago Bears nightshirt, she let the door provide cover for her while she leaned down to reach…nothing.

She reached farther…and touched warm flesh.

“Ahhh!” Startled, Chloe fell backward, ending up in a heap on her foyer floor.

“Hey, are you okay?” Steve inquired from above her.

She frantically tugged on the hem of her nightshirt, trying to cover what she could. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing down there?”

“Looking for dust bunnies,” she retorted tartly before scrambling to her feet.

“Dust bunnies, huh?” He grinned at her. “Find any?”

She reached behind her for the afghan Wanda had crocheted for her last Christmas, yanking it from the reading chair and wrapping it around herself. “I did not invite you in,” she pointed out.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I was until you grabbed my hand on the front porch.”

Steve shrugged, drawing her attention to the broad shoulders beneath his dark pullover. “I thought you were reaching for me.”

“I was reaching for my newspaper. I didn’t know you were out there. What were you doing out there?”

“Like I said, I came to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“About this disguise of yours.”

She blinked at him and lifted her chin before tugging the afghan a little tighter around her shoulders, like Queen Victoria gathering her royal robes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. I want to know why you were dressed the way you were last night.”

“And what way might that be?”

“You know very well what way. Like a frumpy librarian.”

“Isn’t that what you were expecting?”

Steve hadn’t expected her to turn the tables on him and put him on the spot. “It doesn’t matter what I was expecting.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the one who was being deceitful.”

“In what way?”

“By making me think you were…”

“Yes,” she prompted him. “Go on.”

He sensed dangerous foot-in-mouth quicksand ahead. “That you were something you’re not.”

“I can assure you, I am a librarian. You saw me at work last night.”

“I also saw you raiding your fridge at midnight. And I’m seeing you right now.”

“So?”

“So you don’t look the same way you did when you came knocking on my grandmother’s door last night. And I want to know why. Why the deception?”

“It wasn’t a deception. I was merely wearing my costume for the library program last night. The whodunit mystery program, remember? You were there.”

“Yes, I was there.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that I don’t like being made a fool of.” His voice reflected his irritation.

“If you feel that you acted foolishly, then you accomplished that all by yourself. You didn’t need any help from me.”

“What were you hoping to accomplish by dressing that way?”

“Why do you care?”

“Chalk it up to my natural curiosity. You’re obviously an attractive woman. I can’t help wondering why you tried to disguise that fact last night.”

He thought she was attractive? Her ego soared before she shot it down with the reminder that this was a man accustomed to saying whatever a woman wanted to hear. She was smart enough not to fall for that. Right? She was also smart enough to get more clothes on ASAP. It was difficult to maintain one’s dignity wrapped in an afghan. “I am not having this conversation half-dressed.”

“You look fine to me.”

She glared at him. “And you’re the type of man to judge a woman by her appearance as to whether or not she’s worthy of your attention, aren’t you?”

“Am I?”

“You proved it by the way you reacted when I walked into Wanda’s kitchen yesterday evening. You dismissed me.”

“I had no idea they taught you to read minds in library school.”

“It was obvious.” She lifted her hand to her glasses, adjusting the frames before fixing him with a direct stare that dared him to fib.

“Okay, I admit I may not have been thrilled to see you,” Steve admitted, “but it had nothing to do with you or how you looked.”

“Right,” Chloe scoffed.

“Look, I was just feeling a little…aggravated with my matchmaking grandmother for her heavy-handed attempts to hook me up with the girl next door.”

“So you would have reacted the same way had a gorgeous lingerie model walked into your grandmother’s kitchen?”

She had him there. And she knew it. He hated when that happened.

That didn’t stop him from trying to defend himself. “I recognize your attack for what it is, an attempt to deflect attention from your own behavior.”

“I behaved perfectly fine.”

“By dressing up like a frumpy librarian?”

“I told you, I was wearing a costume—”

“You certainly were. And not just for that mystery thing last night. You didn’t want me to know how good-looking you really are. Why?”

Instead of answering his question, she said, “I need more coffee. And I need to get dressed. Coffee first.” She turned and headed for the kitchen.

“No need to do that on my account.” If he were a better man, Steve would have told her that the afghan still left a tantalizing display of her bare thighs for his appreciation. Instead he noted the way she managed to walk all uptight and offended and still be sexy.

She removed an extra mug from the cabinet and reluctantly nudged it across the counter toward him. “I suppose you could drink a cup while I get dressed. Or you could go home….”

“No chance of that.”

Chloe took her coffee mug filled with coffee into her bedroom with her, no easy feat given the fact that she was still holding the afghan around her body. Fifteen minutes later, the caffeine was finally hitting her system, giving her the energy to face the sexy but exasperating Marine in her kitchen.

She was dressed in a pair of tailored khakis and a white shirt, but she didn’t like the way she looked in the mirror above her cherry dresser. So she changed and put on a T-shirt. A plain navy one. She’d quickly run a brush through her shoulder-length hair and decided not to take the time to do more with it. Who knew what Steve might be up to in her kitchen?

He was up to the sports section of her newspaper, calmly sitting at her kitchen table, looking as comfortable as if he’d been there every morning for the past year.

He glanced up and then gave her a slow smile. “So you’re a Bears fan, huh?”

It took her a moment to realize that he was referring to the nightshirt she’d worn when he’d first arrived. That’s because she was thrown by his smile and the effect it had on her. His smile was entirely too disarming. Wicked and tantalizing at the same time. Very much like the man himself, she suspected.

She had to remind herself that this was a man accustomed to seducing women. Not that Wanda had exactly put it like that, but she’d said how “popular Steve is with the ladies.” Chloe could tell that much on her own. Steve possessed the same kind of inherent confidence that Brad had. And he was even better looking than Brad. Not a good mix.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your grandmother’s house?” she said.

“Not until I get some answers. You still haven’t told me why you deliberately tried to deceive me.”

“That’s rather egotistical of you. Assuming that everything revolves around you. That my behavior was a result of you.”

“Wasn’t it?”

His directness rattled her. So did the ease with which he made himself at home in her domain. He should have looked like a bull in a china shop. But he didn’t. He fit in.

No, stop that thought right there! Delete, delete, delete. Maybe if she answered his question, he’d leave. “Look, suffice it to say that you’re not the only one Wanda practices her matchmaking on.”

“Meaning?”

“Your grandmother is a sweetie, but she’s been raving about you for weeks. And when you suddenly decided to visit her during your leave, she was over the moon. She was also intent on my meeting you.”

“And your objection to that was…?”

“As I said earlier, I know your type.” She still stood, her hands gripping the back of the oak kitchen chair as if doing so would prevent her from something she might later regret. Grabbing him or tossing him out—she couldn’t be sure.

“What type would that be?”

“A player. And having just been through a bad experience with a man who informs me that it isn’t natural for a man to settle for just one woman, I wasn’t interested in being played, okay?”

To her surprise, his expression turned serious. “Okay. I can understand that. I just came off a bad experience myself. Which is why I got so upset about you conning me.”

“That’s not the way I’d describe it.”

“That’s how I viewed it. You wore those clothes to keep me at bay.”

“You’re only interested in me now because you think I look prettier than I did last night.” There, she’d said it.

“I tried to get to know you last night, but you weren’t cooperating.”

“You were just taking pity on the frumpy girl,” Chloe retorted. “You didn’t really mean it.” This was a sore point for her. “I’ve already been dumped by a guy who I thought was interested in me, only to find that he was merely biding his time until a prettier woman came along.”

“Ah, betrayal. That’s something we have in common,” Steve said. “Bad luck in the romance department.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “I find it hard to believe that you’ve got bad luck that way.”

“Believe it.”

“That’s not what your grandmother thinks. She never mentioned anything about bad luck.”

“She doesn’t know everything, although she’d like me to think she does.”

The devil on her right shoulder warned her that Steve could be conning her, trying to gain her sympathy. “Your grandmother is a wise woman.”

“And a stubborn one. She’s not going to give up on getting us together, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to do anything about it.”

“Trust me, my grandmother has a way of wearing you down,” Steve noted.

“And I suppose you have a plan to counter that?”

“Of course.”

“First tell me about the woman who betrayed you.”

It was a test. She half expected him to toss off her request with some slick response. When he hesitated, she added, “I told you what went wrong with my relationship.”

“Yeah, you were going with a jerk.”

That stung, indicating that her judgment where men were concerned was faulty. Which might be true, but she sure didn’t appreciate him pointing out that fact. “Don’t you have someplace else you need to be right now?”

“No. You asked me a question, and I’m going to answer it. Want some more coffee?”

“I can get it myself.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“And I suppose you’d like me to pour you some more coffee while I’m at it?”

“If you do, I’ll share these with you….” He held up a bag from a local bakery.

“Where did those come from?”

He read the side of the bag. “The Busy Bee Bakery.”

“I meant how did they get here?”

“I brought them.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“You’re telling me you went to the bakery in the fifteen minutes I took to get dressed?”

“No.”

She tried not to grit her teeth in frustration. “Are you always this exasperating?”

“No, I can be much worse.”

“That’s great to hear.”

He held up the bag and waggled it. “So, do you want some or not?”

“What’s in the bag?”

If he’d said a chocolate éclair, she could have resisted the temptation. But when he said, “Brownies,” she knew she was a goner.

“Are you interested?” he said.

“An even trade. A refill on your coffee for a brownie.”

“Works for me.”

She loosened her grip on the chair and busied herself getting plates out of the kitchen cupboard before taking the coffeepot over to the table to refill his mug. “I still don’t know how you got these here.” She pointed to the bag of brownies.

“I carried them.”

“When? And don’t tell me this morning unless you’re ready to suffer the consequences.”

“I had them in my hand when I first arrived, but when you reached for me…”

“I was reaching for the paper!” she corrected him.

“I dropped them on your front porch.” He peered inside the bag. “Luckily they didn’t suffer from that little mishap.”

“And you retrieved them from my porch while I was getting dressed?”

“That’s right. Are you always this intent on solving mysteries?”

“I like things to be in order.”

“Marines like order, too. See, that’s something else we have in common.”

Chloe wasn’t so easily convinced. “Before you distracted me with decadent baked goods, you were going to tell me about this romantic bad luck you had.”

Steve wasn’t sure what to say, which wasn’t unusual for him. Confiding had never been his thing. And telling her about Gina meant telling her about his inheritance.

Who was he kidding here? His grandmother had probably already told Chloe about the money.

Was that why Chloe had acted the way she had? Was this all an elaborate hoax to get his attention by pretending to avoid it?

He couldn’t help being suspicious, given his recent track record where females were concerned.

Then his logical side reminded him that he had no intention of falling for Chloe. There was no danger of that. Sure he was a bit intrigued by her, but he was only here in Chicago for a short period of time during his leave.

Not telling her would mean he was afraid to. So he bit the bullet and started talking. Reluctantly. In his own way and in his own time. “Well, you’ve probably heard the sad story before—poor guy inherits money and a beautiful woman cons him into thinking she’s in love with him when all she really wants is access to his bank account.”

“Were you in love with her?”

Love. That four-letter word that had ended up sucker punching him without warning. “I thought I was.”

“How do you know she was only interested in your money?”

“I don’t tell many people about it. I’m assuming my grandmother told you, right?”

Chloe nodded before hurriedly assuring him, “Believe me, I’m not interested in your bank account.”

“You’d hardly tell me you were, now would you?”

“True.” She shifted uncomfortably before quickly returning the spotlight on him. “But getting back to your story.”

He could tell she didn’t like talking about herself. Something else they had in common.

“This girl—” Chloe was saying when Steve interrupted her.

“Her name was Gina. She was smart and classy. Gorgeous. A real knockout. And I discovered the truth when I found her with a good buddy of mine. I overheard them talking. He’d told her about the money. I’d told him, never thinking…” His jaw tightened. What an idiot he’d been. “Anyway, they both duped me.”

“What did you do?”

“Walked in and told them the game was over. Gina tearfully tried to tell me that I’d misunderstood.”

“Had you?”

Steve shook his head. “I saw the guilt in my buddy’s face.”

“So it was actually a double whammy. You were betrayed by both a gold-digging woman and by your buddy.”

“At least he wasn’t a Marine,” Steve said. “He was a civilian.”

“Oh, that explains it then,” Chloe noted dryly. “Civilians aren’t to be trusted.”

“Hey, I spill my guts to you and you respond by mocking me?”

“You were reciting facts of what occurred. That’s not the same as spilling guts.”

“Like I’m ever gonna get all sappy about stuff,” he scoffed.

“That would never happen, right?”

“I’m a Marine.” His voice was brisk and powerful. “We don’t do sappy.”

“Right. You do tough and in control.”

“Affirmative.”

“Except where it comes to your grandmother?”

“Affirmative. But I do have a plan.”

“Why am I not surprised by that…?” Chloe murmured before taking her last bite of brownie.

“The way to combat my grandmother’s matchmaking moves is not to launch a counteroffensive. That would only make her dig in her heels more. Instead, we lull her into thinking she’s winning the battle.”

“And how do we do that?”

“Simple.” He grinned at her again. “We move in together.”