Читать книгу What A Man's Gotta Do - Karen Templeton - Страница 10

Eddie followed, shutting the door behind him. Damn, but it was a small office.

“Open the door,” Mala said.

He did. It didn’t help.

As badly as he’d wanted to see if she was as soft as she’d looked twenty years ago, that was nothing compared with how much he wanted to find out now. And if it’d only been a certain part of his anatomy talking, he probably could’ve ignored it a lot better than he was doing. But there was something else going on here, something he didn’t understand and certainly didn’t like. Something that involved wanting to ease those worry lines in her brow and convince her that not all men were idiots even though Eddie wasn’t all that sure they weren’t.

Especially the ones in this room.

“We don’t have to let her bully us, you know,” she said, startling a grin out of him.

He slipped his hands in his pockets, wondering if it was just his imagination that Mala seemed to be having a real hard time focusing on his face. “No, I suppose we don’t.” And here’s where he could have said, without any trouble at all, “And I could just go find someplace else, so why don’t we just forget about it?” So nobody was more surprised than him to hear come out of his mouth, “But sounds to me like you got an apartment that needs a tenant. And it just so happens I need a place to live. So this could be a mutually advantageous proposition, when you get right down to it.”

Mala looked at him, wide-eyed, while he weighed the danger of getting down to…things and wondered when his mouth and libido had joined forces against his brain. She crossed her arms. “Do you smoke?”

“Not anymore.”

For a second, she almost looked disappointed. Except then she half smiled, just enough for him to see the dimples, and he thought maybe she was about to say something else. Only she didn’t, not right then at least, like her thoughts had tripped her up. He thought again about this business of him unintentionally rattling women the way he did, and it occurred to him that this one didn’t seem to be quite as rattled as most. At least, not in the same way. Even as a teenager, she’d had no compunction about looking him dead in the eye. And even now, while he could plainly see something like fear etched in those faint lines around her mouth, the fear wasn’t about him, he didn’t think, as much as it was about herself.

Although, the way he was thinking at the moment, maybe it should be about him.

And where did he get off guessing what was going on inside other people’s heads? Let alone worrying about it?

Then they both seemed to realize they’d been staring at each other for some time, which apparently provoked Mala into saying, in a rush, “Okay, here’s the deal. It’s a small one-bedroom apartment, separate entrance, on the top floor of my house. There’s a kitchenette and a full bath. Yes, it’s furnished, but we’re not talking the Hilton, here. Despite Galen’s avowals to the contrary, the tenants did leave it in a mess, and I haven’t had a chance to clean it yet, so don’t come crying to me if the toilet doesn’t sparkle. I normally charge four-fifty a month, plus utilities, but since you’ll be moving into it ‘as is,’ I’ll knock off two hundred bucks for the first month. It’s actually a pretty good deal, considering. And it’s close.”

“And you don’t want me there.”

“Smart man.”

“So why’re you giving me a sales pitch?”

“Because I need the money and prospective tenants aren’t exactly lined up around the block.”

Traces of what was left of her perfume wriggled through the cooking smells from the other side of the door. Something pretty, unfussy. Potent. He thought for a moment. Real hard. And not with the part of his anatomy that was.

“In other words, you can’t be picky.”

“You got it.”

“I’ll need a place for my car.”

“There’s a detached garage in the back. You can use it.”

“Well, then, it sounds good to me. As long as—”

“But you have to promise to stay away from the kids.”

Not that he’d planned on adopting the little buzzards, but still. His eyes narrowed. “Since I’m not much of a kid person, that shouldn’t be a problem. But what prompted this…condition?”

She let her breath out in a harsh sigh, then pinned him with her gaze again. “I can tell how much the kids already like you.”

That was not what he’d expected her to say. “I don’t—”

“Galen told me all about your not ever staying in one place very long. This is nothing personal, believe me…” She stopped, studied her hands for a moment. “They’ve been abandoned once already,” she said softly. “And to be perfectly honest…well, Carrie sees Galen with her husband, and my brother with his new wife, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. That they have a complete family and we don’t. Or at least, what she thinks of as ‘complete.’” In the split second between sentences, Eddie saw her eyes darken. “What kind of mother would I be, letting them become attached to somebody who’s only going to be around for a few months? So if you take the apartment, you have to promise me you won’t let them glom on to you.”

He thought that over for a minute then said, God knows why, “That philosophy must make dating kind of hard,” and she mumbled something about it not being a problem, and instead of letting it drop, like a smart man might’ve done, he heard himself say, “You tellin’ me you haven’t even gone out with anybody since your husband left?”

Her chin shot up, right along with her dander. Not to mention the color in her cheeks.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

He let out a sigh. “You’re right, and I apologize. Guess that’s why I’ve never been much good at conversation. Can’t seem to talk to anyone for more’n five minutes without pissin’ ’em off. Which is why I suppose I prefer to keep to myself. Less hurt feelings that way.”

After a moment, she said, “I don’t wound easily, Mr. King. Not anymore, at least. But if you prefer your own company, that’s fine with me. I’m only looking for a tenant, not a buddy.”

“Which I suppose means you’re not gonna answer my question.”

Her eyes narrowed. He chuckled. Why, he didn’t know, but something about this woman brought out the worst in him. Or the best, depending on how you looked at it. “No, I didn’t think so. Okay—you want cash or a money order for the first month’s rent?”

“Maybe…you should have a look at the place first?”

“Fair enough. Give me the address. I’ll be over tonight.”

“151 Mason. Three blocks east, one north. Two story house, white with blue shutters. Can’t miss it—the yard looks like a Little Tykes graveyard. Oh, but I won’t be there until after eight-thirty. The kids have a thing at school.”

“Got it.” He straightened up, started toward the door, then turned back. And this time, he saw a protective set to the lady’s jaw that he doubted had anything to do with her children.

Eddie considered several things he might say, only to decide anything he might come up with would only land him in a heap of trouble.

You wouldn’t think it would take so long to gather up a duffel bag, check out of a motel, then hit the grocery store for a few essentials, but it was nearly nine by the time Eddie got to Mala’s house. Being as her Escort was hogging the driveway, he pulled the Camaro up in front, smirking at the white picket fence bordering the toy-strewn yard. A pair of rangy, almost bare trees fragmented the lukewarm porch light, further littering the snow-dusted lawn with grostesque, undulating shadows. It had cleared up; he got out of the car, hauling in a lungful of sharp, metallic air as he swung open the screaking gate at the foot of the walk.

His boots seemed to make an awful lot of noise as he made his way up to her front door.

Still in the same skirt and sweater she’d been wearing earlier, Mala opened the door before he hit the steps, one finger to her lips. “The kids are asleep,” she whispered when he reached the top. Coffee-scented warmth beckoned from inside. “Come on in while I get the keys to the apartment.”

He wiped his boots on the doormat, then did as she asked, quietly shutting the door behind him. The old-fashioned entryway was dimly lit, but enough for him to take in the wide staircase hugging one photo-lined wall, the faded Oriental rugs scattered crookedly on the scuffed wooden floor. And Mala. Her feet encased in thick, slouchy socks, she stood with one arm hugging her ribs, the other hand fiddling with a small gold loop in her ear. Caution hovered like a mistreated pup in her light eyes, at odds with the directness, the generosity of spirit that he now realized was what had intrigued him so much all those years ago. A tiny, fierce burst of protectiveness exploded in his chest, scaring the very devil out of him.

“Want some coffee?” she asked. “I just made it.”

Eddie caught the automatic “no, thanks” before it hit his mouth. Fact was, a cup of coffee sounded great, and he couldn’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t take her up on her offer. Except one.

“I bet it’s decaf.”

“I bet you’re wrong.”

“Then I guess I don’t mind if I do. Black, please.”

“Gotcha. Be right back.”

She straightened up the crooked rug with the heel of one foot before she went, though.

Other than the muted sound of some TV drama coming from what he assumed was the living room, the house was astonishingly quiet. And on top of the coffee aroma lay a mixture of other scents, of clean laundry and recent baths and woodsmoke. Like what most people meant when they said, “Home.”

He grunted, looked around. He’d been in enough hacked-up houses to guess the layout of this one, although this seemed nicer than most. An office, looked like, in what had been the original front parlor to the right; through the wide doorway off to the left, he caught a glimpse of sand-colored wall-to-wall carpet, beige-and-blue plaid upholstered furniture, a warm-toned spinet piano, a brick fireplace, more pictures, more kid stuff. The kitchen would be out in back, most likely an eat-in, and there were probably some add-ons, too, maybe a couple of extra bedrooms or something.

“Here you go.” Mala came down the hall, handed him a flowery but sturdy mug of coffee, then plucked a heavy sweater off the coatrack and slipped it on, all the while watching him, her expression still guarded. Waiting for a reaction, he realized, even if she didn’t know that’s what she was doing. He took a sip, nodded in approval. Relief flooded her features; a stab of irritation shunted through him, that she should care that much what some stranger thought about her coffee.

“It’s real good,” he said.

“My mother taught me, when I was still little.”

Eddie lifted the mug in salute. “But you made it.”

A smile flashed across her mouth, followed by a low chuckle. “You can really lay it on thick, can’t you?”

He angled his head at her. “I’m no better at flattering than I am at conversation, Mala. The coffee’s good. So just deal with it.”

She blushed, nodded, then slid her feet into a pair of wooden clogs by the door. “The entrance is in the back,” she said, yanking open the front door. When he glanced at the stairs right there in the hallway, she simply said, “Blocked off,” and left it at that.

And here Mala had thought she was immune to things like slow, sexy smiles and the pungent, spicy scent of fresh-out-of-the-cold males.

Not to mention the sight of soft, worn jeans molding to hard, lean thighs.

Ai-yi-yi.

The thin crust of snow crunched underfoot as she led Eddie wordlessly around to the side, then up the wooden stairs leading to the apartment.

The key stuck.

“It does that when it’s humid,” she said under her breath, wondering, just as the damn lock finally gave way and the door wratched open, why every other sentence out of her mouth these days seemed to be an apology. She flicked on the living room’s overhead light, stepping well out of the range of Eddie’s pheromones as he followed her inside. She cringed at the faint tang of old pizza and stale beer still hovering in the air, even though she’d cleaned up the worst of the mess more than a week ago.

“If the lock gets to be too much of a hassle,” she said, “let me know. I’ll change it out.”

His face remained expressionless as he took in the room. She clutched the coffee mug to her chest, hoping the warmth would dissolve the strange knot that had suddenly taken root smack in the center of her rib cage. Her nerves lurched, sending her heart rate into overdrive. “Like I said, it’s not the Hilton.”

To say the least. Bare, white walls which needed another coat of paint, she noted. Beige industrial grade carpet. Ivory JCPenney drapes over the two large windows. The earthtone tweed sofa and two equally colorless armchairs had been in her parents’ den, once upon a time; Mala had scrounged the coffee table, mismatched end tables and black bookcase from yard sales, picked up the plain tan ginger jar lamps at Target. Not shabby—she’d seen shabby, this wasn’t it—just basic. And about as personal as a dentist’s office.

“Feel free to hang pictures or whatever, make it feel more like home.”

No comment. Just the buzz from that sharp blue gaze, silently taking everything in over the rim of the mug as he sipped his coffee. Mala swiped her hair behind her ear.

“Um, kitchen’s over there.” She pointed to the far end of the room where, behind a Formica-topped bar, the secondhand refrigerator sulked in the shadows. The living room light reflected dully off the grease-caked, glass-paned cabinets: she made a mental note to buy more Windex. Her mother would have a cow if she knew Mala was actually showing someone the place in the condition it was in. “I guess what they must’ve done was knock out a wall between the master bedroom and one of the smaller ones to make the kitchen area and living room, leaving the bedroom and bath the way they were.”

The hair on the backs of her arms stirred. She glanced over, caught Eddie watching her, his gaze steady, unnerving in its opaqueness, much more unnerving in its overt sexual interest. Over a frisson of alarm, she squatted, grimacing at some stain or other on the carpeting. Between his silence and his staring and her nerves, she was about to go nuts.

“Why do you keep looking at me?” she said to the stain.

“Sorry,” he said. Mala looked up. He wasn’t smiling, exactly, as much as his features had somehow softened. “Didn’t realize I was.” Then he added, “I just would’ve thought you’d be used to having men gawking at you.”

The slight tinge of humor in his words threatened to rattle her even more, especially because she realized he wasn’t making fun of her. She stood, her cheeks burning, then crossed to the empty bookcase, yanking a tissue out of her sweater pocket to wipe down the filthy top shelf.

“Like I said, I haven’t had a chance to clean, so it looks a little woebegone at the moment. But it’s a nice place when it’s fixed up. There’s lots of light in here during the day, and everything works. I’m afraid you’re at my mercy for heat, since the thermostat’s downstairs and I tend to think there’s nothing wrong with having to wear a sweater indoors in the middle of winter, but it’s automatic, on at six-thirty, off at ten. And the apartment has its own electric meter, so I’ll be passing along that bill to you separately—”

His chuckle caught her up short. She turned, her breath hitching in her throat at the sight of the smile crinkling his eyes. If he’d smiled at her like that when they’d been back in school…well, let’s just say her virtue might have gone by the side of the road long before it actually did.

“Now I know where your daughter gets it,” he said.

“Gets what?”

He held up his hand, miming nonstop talking.

She decided it wasn’t worth taking offense. “You should meet my mother,” she said, only to silently add, No, you shouldn’t as she started down the hall. “Bedroom and bath are right down here…”

“What’d he do to you?”

Mala turned, startled. “Who?”

“Your husband.”

“What makes you think—”

“You weren’t like this before. Nervous, I mean. Like you’re about to break.”

On second thought, things were a lot better when he wasn’t talking. “How would you know what I was like? You wouldn’t even speak to me back then.”

“Don’t always have to converse with somebody to know about them. In fact, not talking makes it easier to watch. And listen. See things about folks maybe they can’t always see for themselves.”

Anger, apprehension, curiosity all spurted through her. “And what is it you think you see about me?”

“I’m not sure. Someone who’s lost sight of who she is, maybe.”

The gentleness in his voice, more unexpected than the words themselves, brought a sharp, hard lump to her throat. For three years, she’d refused to let herself feel vulnerable. In the space of a few minutes, this man—this stranger—threatened to destroy all her hard work.

Her fingers tightened around the handle of her mug. “Do you make it a habit of going around analyzing people without being asked?”

He shook his head, his expression serious. Genuinely concerned. “No, ma’am. Not at all.”

“Then why do I rate?”

“Because it burns my butt to see how much you’ve changed,” he said simply, softly, waving the cup in her direction. “That the girl who didn’t seem to have a care in the world now seems like she’s taken on all of ’em.”

She laughed, although that was the last thing she felt like doing. “I’m twenty years older than I was then. I’m a divorcée with two kids and my own business. I have bills out the wazoo, a car that needs coaxing every morning to get going and parents who worry about me far more than they should be worrying about someone this close to forty. So, yeah, I guess I’ve got a little more on my plate than worrying about acing my trig exam or how many balloons to order for the senior prom.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Zing went her heart, thudding and tripping inside her chest. “I told you,” she said quietly, desperately, scrabbling away from treacherous ground, “I’m just looking for a tenant. Not a buddy. Or…” She shut her eyes, dragged the unsaid out into the open. “Or anything else.”

“Anything else?” he drawled on a slow, knowing grin.

Embarrassment heated her cheeks. Cripes, she was more out of the loop than she thought. “I’m sorry. I have no idea where that came from—”

“It came right from where you thought it came from,” he said, his voice low and warm and tired-rough. “From me.”

Oh, dear God.

“I can’t…I mean, we c-can’t—”

“I know that. Which is why I’m not really coming on to you, even though that’s how you’re no doubt reading it.” She frowned, thoroughly confused. He smiled, and her insides went all stupid on her. “What I mean is, I can’t help it if I’m sending out ‘I’m interested’ vibes. I am,” he said with a no-big-deal shrug. “But I get what you’re saying. And that’s fine with me. I’m not lookin’ for anything, either. Not now. Probably not ever. The idea of settling down gives me nightmares, if you want to know the truth. I just don’t have whatever it takes to be a family man, I guess. And like you said, the kids…” He let the sentence trail off. “But that doesn’t mean a few not-very-gentlemanly thoughts haven’t crossed my mind in the past few hours. About what things could be like if both of us weren’t so dead set on avoiding complications.”

Her ears started to ring. “You’re attracted to me?”

There went that sin-never-looked-so-good smile again. “Didn’t I just say exactly that? Oh, Lord, lady,” he said on a chuckle. “For a bright woman, you are sure slow on the uptake about some things, aren’t you?”

Apparently so. Well, yes, there’d been that hmmm thing back at the restaurant, but she didn’t think that was anything personal. So now she stared at her coffee for a good three or four seconds, luxuriating in the idea of being found desirable. Realizing that, if she were smart, she’d tell him the apartment was no longer available. Instead she lifted her eyes and said, “Thank you, Mr. King.” You have just given me reason to live.

He lifted the mug in salute, his mouth tilted. “Anytime.”

She definitely caught that fast enough. Fighting back yet another blush, she mumbled something about seeing the rest of the apartment and clomped down the short hallway to the back. Eddie followed, slowly, as if he had no use for time.

Mala stopped in front of the white tiled bathroom, which was almost all tub, a wonker of a claw-footed number. A plain white shower curtain hung like a plastic ghost from a ring over its center. Eddie was standing very close to her as they both peered into the room. In fact, if she moved an inch to the right, she could…

…see that the tub had more rings than Saturn.

“And for what it’s worth,” she said, whacking her way through a jungle of hormones to get to the small bedroom, “there’s a walk-in closet. Cedar-lined, no less.”

But she could tell Eddie’s gaze had been snagged by the linens—sheets, blankets, pillows, towels—neatly stacked in the center of the fairly new double mattress. He walked over, skimmed one knuckle over the pillow. Mala tried not to shiver.

“I thought maybe you might not have any of your own,” she said from the doorway. “You know, since you just got here. And I have extras. Mostly stuff my mother pawned off on me. There’s dishes in the cupboards, too, and a couple pans and stuff. But that doesn’t mean you get maid service,” she added quickly. He twisted around, amusement crackling in his eyes. And she found herself fighting a twinge of disappointment that they’d already explored the outer limits of their relationship five minutes ago. “Washer and dryer are downstairs, in the mudroom. I do laundry on Fridays, usually, but you’re welcome to use them any other time.”

He studied her for a long moment, then said, “Sounds good to me. Where do I sign?”

She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or scared witless. “Come on back down. The receipt book’s in my office.”

He shadowed Mala into the office, pulling out his wallet while she rummaged through her desk for her receipt book. He wasn’t a particularly big man, not compared with her line-backer brother, or even Galen’s husband, Del, but sometimes there’s more to a man than his size. In Eddie’s case, it was his quiet intensity, she supposed, that seemed to infuse every molecule with his presence. Not to mention every molecule in her body. The book found, she glanced over, clearly saw four hundreds and a fifty in his outstretched hand.

“I said two-fifty for the first month, remember?”

“I know what you said. But you’ll find it’s real hard to argue with someone who won’t argue back.”

Irritation singed her last nerve. But at herself, not him. “I’m not a charity case, Mr. King.”

“The name’s Eddie. And what you are, is stubborn. Didn’t I just tell you you’ll get nowhere arguin’ with me?”

“Why?” she asked, just this side of flummoxed. First the man as good as says he has the hots for her, then he wants to throw away two hundred bucks. This was seriously messing with her entire belief system. “Why on earth would you voluntarily pay more than I asked?”

“I have my reasons,” he said. “Now you gonna take your money or not?”

She wrestled with her pride for about two seconds, then took the money. “Thanks.”

“See how easy that was?”

A quick glance caught the slight smile teasing that take-me-now mouth. Mala wrote out a receipt, annoyed to discover her hand was shaking, then handed it to him with the keys. “I’ll try to get up tomorrow sometime to clean—”

“I can clean my own bathtub,” Eddie said, slipping his wallet into his back pocket, then setting his empty coffee mug on the corner of her desk. “You have a nice night, now. I’ll see myself out.”

Mala sank into her desk chair after he left, only then noticing her answering machine was flashing. She really should get Caller ID one of these days, but right now it was ranked way on the bottom of a depressingly long to-do list. She halfheartedly punched the play button.

A hang up. Just as well, since she didn’t think she could conduct a logical conversation right now if she tried.

Eddie stomped up the stairs to the apartment, his forehead knit so tight, he thought it might stay that way. And he wasn’t breathing right, either. Doggone it—what had he been thinking? In the space of a half hour, he’d managed to break every single rule in his book, number one being, “Don’t get involved, bonehead.”

He batted open the door—nobody’d bothered to lock it, seeings as he was coming right back up, anyway—and went inside, jerking back the drapes and opening a living room window to air out the place some. Not that he hadn’t been in places that’d smelled a far sight worse….

Shoot, it must’ve embarrassed the life out of Mala, showing him the place in this condition. Women tended to get their drawers in a knot about stuff like that. And this one’s drawers, he imagined, thinking back to when he used to watch her scurrying from class to class, her arms always loaded with about a dozen books, had probably been knotted since she was three.

Those eyes of hers…damn, damn, damn. Fierce and questioning and scared and so incredibly honest, even behind that puny veil of control, it knocked him clear into next week.

Hell, Eddie was the last person to think about reassuring some woman he barely knew that things’d work out. About reassuring anybody. He didn’t much believe things did, for the most part. But he was at least used to dodging the crap life seemed determined to fling in his path. If Eddie didn’t like the way things were going, he could pretty much just up and walk away. Mala Koleski, though, wasn’t the type of person who could do that. Not with two kids, especially. He could tell that right off, and he admired her for it. Which was why Eddie couldn’t help thinking that here was someone who deserved whatever it was she wanted.

That she needed to know that.

Still, what the Sam Hill had come over him, getting all personal like that? And then, even worse, admitting he was attracted to her? Eddie rammed a hand through his sorry-looking hair, then just held it there, even though most of his brain cells had long since left the building. Sweet heavenly days, he’d never wanted to kiss a woman so bad in his life. And he sure had never wanted to take one in his arms and tuck her head against his chest and just…hold her.

He slipped off his jacket, threw it on the sofa, then went on back to the bedroom to make up the bed. It smelled much better in here, thank heaven. Like freshly washed linens.

And Mala.

With a groan of frustration, Eddie sank onto the edge of the bare mattress, scrubbing a hand across his face.

Okay, so he’d admitted his attraction because something told him it’d been a long time since anyone had let Mala Koleski Whatever-Her-Married-Name-Was know she was attractive. That a woman didn’t have to look like those emaciated Hollywood actresses for a man to get turned on. So he figured she should know that she was worth a man’s time and attention, doggone it. Even if he couldn’t be that man for more than about two minutes.

But that was okay, since he figured hell would freeze over before she’d take him up on his offer, such as it wasn’t. Women like her just didn’t do that, get involved with strays like him.

A weird, empty kind of feeling swelled inside him, vaguely familiar but definitely unwelcome. He got up, trying to shake it off, but it followed him right into the bathroom like an overloyal puppy.

“Go away,” he actually said out loud, but it didn’t. He looked over at the sink as he draped the thick, soft towels over the bar next to the john, saw the new bar of soap she’d left out for him.

The emptiness torqued into an sharp, nasty ache.

“You can’t,” he said to his reflection. “She can’t.”

He yanked open the cupboard door under the sink, found a whole mess of cleaning supplies. Dumping a thick layer of cleanser into the tub, he set to scrubbing it, thinking it’d been a long time since he’d entertained the idea of wanting something he couldn’t have.